


We Burn Together

by FutureAlien



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, General Awkwardness, Good thing Arthur will inherit the throne soon ;), Gwaine is not so bamf but he tries, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magic Revealed, Misunderstandings, Morgana is good, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), POV Alternating, There is also a spy and a political plotline, Torture, a LOT of angst just so you know, because homosexuality is outlawed because Uther is an asshole, because i want her to be, in my defense: they ARE idiots, is this an idiot plot? idk probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureAlien/pseuds/FutureAlien
Summary: "If my father ever found out, he'd have me burned at the stake. As you can imagine, I would like to prevent that."In which Arthur tries to tell Merlin he's gay, but Merlin interprets it as the prince having magic.Add to this a spy, a plot to kidnap the prince and some very foolhardy women, and there is chaos galore





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! This is my first story for the Merlin fandom, please let me know if you like it/if there is anything I can improve on. Thank you for reading this :)

Merlin had been absolutely sure Arthur was unconscious. And really, he wasn’t to blame. The prince lay on the forest ground with his head lolled to one side, and a nasty gash in his arm. The sweat had caked his golden locks to his forehead, and his chest was rising and falling faintly. His sword, which he had been swinging around just moments ago, was getting picked up by one of their attackers. Who these men were was not completely clear to Merlin. They could be bandits, or soldiers, or have some other occupation that required them to ambush an unexpecting royal envoy. Whoever they were, however, there were too many of them for Merlin’s liking. After all, their group had only been a small one: just Arthur, Merlin and Sir Leon. The last had defended himself and his companions duly until Arthur had dismissed him to find help, which left only Arthur to guard off the attackers. Merlin had tried, he really had, but swords are very heavy things and he didn’t want to expose himself as a sorcerer right away. Now, however, he feared he had to. The three men that had gotten Arthur down were turning around, no doubt searching for the prince’s clumsy manservant.

  
They spotted him almost immediately, and clumsy manservant in question had not at all appreciated the smirks on their faces. The biggest of the three, a rough-looking man with a patchy beard and long brown braids in his hair, was carrying Arthur’s sword, dragging the tip through the mossy undergrowth with a devilish grin. The two men on his flanks were only a fraction smaller than their leader, and still very much larger than Merlin in both length and breadth. The left one cracked his bloodied knuckles, and the one on the right laughed, showing all his rotting dentures in more detail than Merlin wanted to see.

“Why don’t you run, boy?” the middle man asked. “You know you’re not the one we want.”

Merlin had not known that, but it did make sense. The men had not seemed interested in any of their horses, or the embroidered saddles on their backs, which meant they were no ordinary thieves. They did not wear the colours of a certain kingdom either – instead they were dressed in green and brown rags that made them blend in with the trees. Mercenaries, perhaps, or men hired to abduct a wealthy prince. Who knew what Uther would give to get his heir back? Merlin thought it would rather be more in the ‘total eradication’ direction than the ‘paying a ransom’ direction, but these men had no way of knowing that.

It didn’t matter though. Merlin wasn’t planning on letting them take his prince.

“I’m not leaving him,” he said, clenching his fists. He could feel the magic course through his fingers. It wanted to get out, badly. Not yet, Merlin tried to tell it.

The man in the middle raised his eyebrow, though he did not halt his pace.

“Loyal, are you?”

The man on his right laughed again. Merlin winced at the sight – that man really needed to see a dentist.

“What will you do to him?” Merlin demanded, or tried to, because his voice might have sounded a little shaky. It was taking all of his concentration to keep his magic from lashing out, and he could feel himself tremble from the effort. To the ambushers, he probably looked like he was about to faint.

“That really is none of your concern,” the man on the left answered. He was close enough for Merlin to see that he wore a golden ringlet through one of his nostrils.

“You won’t be there to worry about it anyways,” Bad Teeth piped in. “Because you’re going to be far more occupied with dying slowly and painfully.”

“Maybe we can let him live to tell the tale,” Nose Ring said. “Make a few cuts here and there, take some body parts as souvenirs, nothing bad enough for him to die of. Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do?” He looked at Merlin, and placed his hand on the curved dagger hanging from his belt. “Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do?” he repeated, then bared his teeth. “Wouldn’t that be worth begging for?”

Merlin was not about to beg, which meant he would have to be quick if he wanted to survive this quite unpleasant encounter. Although the men were not in a hurry, they were approaching steadily, and Merlin did not see a way to avoid them without exposing his powers. He cast a quick glance backwards to be certain. The sprawled bodies of the rest of the attackers would certainly trip him before he could hide somewhere. Besides, he couldn’t leave Arthur.

The three men really were getting rather close now. Merlin’s bewildered look for an escape route had only intensified their laughter as they stepped over the bodies of their peers, slowly but steadily, each step bringing them closer and closer and closer –

Merlin shot a last look at Arthur. The prince was definitely out of it.

With a quick, tiny movement of his head, he set the struggling magic free. It burst out and went for the nearest thing it could find.

The tree next to the three men started toppling. The man with the braids shot an astonished look at Merlin, who whispered two soft words. The tree looked as if it had been giving a forceful push by an invisible giant and fell over, trapping the three men underneath it. Judging from the nauseating crack with which the trunk landed, they would not get out from underneath it anytime soon.  
Relieved, Merlin let out the breath he had been holding and wiped his forehead.

He might have celebrated his victory a tad too soon, though.

Because when he glanced over to see how the prince was faring, Arthur stared right back at him.

***

Arthur didn’t have a clue why Merlin was acting so strange. Admittedly, his poor manservant had just looked death straight in the eye, and if it hadn’t been for that tree suddenly losing its century-old balance, Merlin would most likely be minced meat by now. For someone not as used to the throes of battle as Arthur, such close encounters with death would surely be frightening.

Yet it didn’t really fit.

Arthur cast a look at Merlin, seated on his short brown horse, some feet behind him. Merlin never rode behind him, even though that was the proper place for a servant to riding. But Merlin had never been a proper manservant. He had been nothing short of a friend, although his incessant chattering would sometimes drive Arthur up the wall. But now, not a word escaped from Merlin’s lips – not even a gruff complaint about the uneven terrain. That truly was unusual. Merlin would never forego an opportunity to complain.

“I think this is the longest you’ve ever been silent,” Arthur tried to joke. He turned around to see if it had landed, but the smile on Merlin’s face was obviously fake, and disappeared before Arthur had completely turned away again.

Not that this discouraged the prince. Merlin was obviously in need of some cheering up, and although Arthur’s head was still buzzing from that nasty blow it received, he was more than willing to try to calm Merlin down.

“Did those robbers manage to steal your tongue after all?” he attempted, with even less success – Merlin didn’t even bother to fake a smile now.  
How can he possibly be so distraught? Arthur thought. This was not the first perilous situation Merlin had survived. This boy had faced dragons, sorcerers and entire armies. How could a group of second-rate bandits scare him so much after all he had endured?

Maybe it was because we were with so few. It had, after all, only been the three of them. Normally, three men of Camelot would easily have defeated the twelve robbers they encountered, but since Merlin was about as useful as a blind cow when it came to fighting, they had been outnumbered. Perhaps that had been the thing that upset Merlin: having to face three armed men alone, when he was fully aware he could not possibly defeat them. Arthur tried to picture having to face three hundred men alone, which he imagined was roughly the equivalent needed to inspire such fear in him. He had to admit, he did not like that thought. Arthur even wondered if he’d be as brave as Merlin in such a situation.

Because that was the thing that puzzled Arthur most of all.

Merlin’s courage.

Despite being threatened, outnumbered and not that well-paid, Merlin had refused to leave Arthur’s side. He had stood there, shaking like a leaf, looking at his assailants, and stayed. Fair enough, he wouldn’t have been able to run very far, but it spoke for him that he didn’t even try. He had been ready to accept his death without flight. Arthur furrowed his brow. How could someone be so brave one minute, and so terrified the next?

The question burned on his tongue, yet he bade himself to be patient, to give Merlin some time to return to his senses. Sooner or later his manservant would be joking again, of course he would. A smile passed his face at the thought of Merlin’s stupid remarks. It would be alright.

Just then, he could hear Merlin take in a deep breath, which undoubtedly would get wasted on some witty remark that would have landed him in the dungeons if he’d worked for any other prince.

Instead, Merlin’s voice sounded almost angry. “I seriously can’t see how you can be so cheerful right now,” he snapped, halting his horse with an aggressive tug.

Arthur almost fell of his own horse in surprise. Merlin was never rough with an animal, let alone his horse. Quickly, Arthur stopped his own steed. Things were clearly much more amiss than he ever could have expected.

***

Merlin was seething with rage. He had known that the prince could be cold. He had known him to be merciless, unwavering, proud and obstinate. But Arthur had never been like this before. Cruel.  
And judging from his raised eyebrows, the crown prince didn’t feel he was being unjust, either. Perhaps Merlin should have known that, should have known that Arthur was his father’s son, that there would never be a place for magic in Camelot. And yet.

This was too much. To know that Arthur saw him perform magic, and yet completely let it go unacknowledged, instead trying to joke as he led Merlin to the gallows of Camelot, that was too much. Merlin could accept his fate – that was his own fault for performing magic in public. That had been his own responsibility, and he would bear the consequences, no matter how undeserved.

But to be led to the pyre by Arthur – his friend, his master, the other side of his coin – to be led by him, and not once see the marks of doubt on his battered face – that was too much. He deserved to explain himself. He deserved to be spoken to in something other than taunts. Had Arthur not seen how loyal he was? Had all his years of service been forgotten?

So he snapped. He thought that was quite reasonable, everything concerned.

“I seriously can’t see how you can be so cheerful right now,” he had snarled after yet another jab about his understandable silence. Never was Arthur cheerful. He was always complaining, always serious, always pretending to be the big boy prince. But as soon as his friend, or servant, or whatever the hell he was to this liar, as soon as Merlin was caught red-handed in an act of sorcery, the prince was chatty? Smiling? Frolicking around? Fuck that and fuck his royally brattish smirk.

Except Arthur wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, he looked dumbfounded, dumbstruck and just plain old dumb.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Merlin sneered. He might not admit it to himself yet, but the way Arthur handled his accidental reveal stung. It stung so much that his whole body had pre-emptively decided to go numb, anything to preserve itself against that awful ache of betrayal. It made him feel empty of anything but shock and raw, ravelling anger. And even if it was the last thing he did – and it might very well be – Merlin would let Arthur know it.

If only Arthur would play the part.

“What are you talking about?” the prince asked. He looked so confused that Merlin started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the confusion was not a front. And yet… Arthur had seen him. It was actually impossible for him not to have seen it – Merlin’s eyes had still been glowing gold when they had met with those of the prince.

Still…

It wouldn’t be the first time that Merlin’s magic had managed to avoid breaking through Arthur’s incredibly thick skull. Merlin decided to wager a little test.

“You saw…” he started, but his throat seemed to live a life of its own, tightening at the very thought of pronouncing those words in Arthur’s face. Instead, Merlin just gestured vaguely. “Back in the woods,” he added, as if that would help.

Arthur looked around him. “We’re still in the woods,” he commented dryly.

Merlin let out an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on his forehead.

“This is really hard for me to talk about, okay?” he brought out. “Can you just tell me what you’re going to do with me?”

***

_Oh_.

That explained a lot.

Arthur recalled the last few hours. The terrified look on Merlin’s face when he found out Arthur had been watching his stand-off with the robbers. How his friend had avoided his eyes when bandaging his wounds, his hands shaking so much that it took much longer than normal to apply the needed bandages. Arthur had gripped Merlin’s wrist, trying to make the boy face him, but his lower lip had trembled so much that Arthur had feared Merlin would start crying, and he had let his hold on him go.

It explained the distance Merlin had created when they drove back to Camelot, keeping their eyes out for Leon and his enforcement on the way there. It explained the silence.  
What had happened with the robbers had shaken Merlin to his core. But it wasn’t the rogues that had inspired this fear.

Merlin was afraid of Arthur.

The realisation made Arthur’s breath hitch. All of a sudden, his mind whirred into action, adding all the pieces of the puzzle together at breakneck speed.

"I’m not leaving him," Merlin had said. Faced with death, that is what that foolish boy had said.

The bandits had called it loyalty. And if Merlin had been a knight, Arthur might have accepted that. But this was not a knight; this was Merlin. Merlin, who was constantly moaning about how much terrible chores he had to do, and that with so little days off. Merlin, who seemed to think Arthur an insufferable clotpole half of the time. Merlin, who had never sworn loyalty to him before a court, and yet had always be the one he trusted above any other. Not because his advice was that great (although he could sometimes be surprisingly wise), but because he cared. He cared so much for

Arthur, that the prince felt like an idiot for only noticing it now.

It made perfect sense. Of course Merlin felt scared – embarrassed, but truly fearful too. He had been revealed as willing to give his life for somebody he supposedly only tolerated. And not only that – in his display, he had proven himself to be a deviant, a deceiver, a person of illicit and outlawed nature.

Of course Merlin feared the prince’s reaction.

Merlin wasn’t just loyal. He was in love with Arthur.

If Arthur had been like one of the characters in the songs the bards liked to regale the court with, his heart would have skipped a beat at this point. Or maybe not, since none of the bards ever mentioned what it would be like to be loved by a member of the same sex. Not that it mattered, since Arthur didn’t return Merlin’s feelings.

Of course he didn’t.

The flush in his face was because he felt flattered, anyone could tell. The rapid beating of his heart had been caused by the surprise of his discovery. And his heart had definitely not skipped a beat.

No, he did not feel that way towards Merlin.

He felt honoured that his friend would hold him in such high regard, and he had to admit it was no blow for his vanity. But surely Merlin did not expect the prince to return such a sinful sentiment towards a mere servant.

No, no such thing could be expected. Arthur inhaled deeply. He would accept the compliment, and reassure Merlin that his misguided emotions would stay secret, that he could resume his duties without shame or fear of punishment. Still, it would have to stay out of doubt that the feeling was not mutual, so Merlin could forget these errings and their relationship could return to its old, platonic form. Yes, that was what Arthur would do, in the most subtle of ways, so as to spare the poor man as much embarrassment as possible.

Arthur scraped his throat, and noticed the haughty and desperate look with which Merlin awaited his verdict. Truly, a lovelorn and pitiful fool, that Merlin.  
“I’m not going to do anything with you,” he stated, in response to Merlin’s question. Arthur quite liked the way that sufficed to clarify two things. At seeing that Merlin’s anguish had not yet receded,  
Arthur added: “I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me to keep your secret.”

Merlin exhaled. The wave of relief that washed over his delicate features was almost painful to watch. Had he really expected Arthur to hand him over to Uther’s executioner over something so… trivial? It hurt a little to know that Merlin had so little faith in him.

Although most of the fear had left Merlin’s face, some of it still resided in the creases of his brow, the tight lines around his usually smiling mouth. The questions in his eyes were unmistakable.  
Arthur bit his lip, and looked at the ground underneath his horse’s hooves. He found it impossible to look at Merlin’s face as he uttered the next sentence.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he repeated, then swallowed, “but that doesn’t mean I… approve of it. You have to understand I cannot.”

After a few seconds, Arthur ventured to peek at Merlin’s face. The result was even more shattering than expected.

Merlin looked as if he might break down in tears any moment. The corners of his mouth tugged down despite his valiant efforts to keep up an untouched façade, making his lips twitch in an uncontrollable way that was truly heart-breaking to watch. Arthur quickly averted his gaze, but he already knew he would never be able to forget the image now seared into his mind.  
He could hear Merlin’s ragged breathing, then a voice, croaked, almost begging.

“Can- can I at least explain?”

Arthur never thought himself a coward, yet he felt one now as he shook his head, unable to meet Merlin’s eyes. This really was for the best, he told himself. It was the best for both of them.

Arthur turned his horse around, spurring it into a gentle trot. He could hear Merlin do the same thing behind him, the boy still stifling his sniffles. Arthur didn’t look back at him.  
“I think it would be best if we just let this matter rest.” The prince did look back now. The servant nodded weakly. The prince quickly turned away again. “I’m certain we will be able to… navigate around this issue without having to cause a stir,” Arthur said to woods in front of him. “Please don’t think this has altered my regard for you. You are still welcome to remain my manservant, if you wish.”

“If you still think the same of me,” Merlin said, in what seemed like the first time in ages, “why do you talk like one of your ministers?”

Arthur couldn’t suppress a smile. “I am merely addressing you in a way that is appropriate.”

“Hmpf,” it sounded behind him. Arthur actually had to turn around to see if Merlin was smiling, or had only bumped his head on a low-hanging branch. It lifted his heart to see a faint smile playing around his friend’s lips.

“I think you are just confusing me,” he started, eyes widening at how quickly Merlin’s face clouded over again. “You’re keeping such a respectful distance that I mistook you for a proper manservant for a second,” he added quickly.

Shaking his head, Merlin urged his horse to catch up with the prince’s. Arthur could feel a burden leave his heart as he saw Merlin’s familiar profile next to him again. The boy even opened his mouth again, although Arthur quickly raised a hand to shut him up.

“If you dare to tell anyone I got knocked out, I will not hesitate to have you thrown in the dungeons for slander,” he warned, though less darkly than he might have.

Merlin shot him a cheeky look. “Irritated because I saved you again, aren’t you?”

The idea actually made Arthur laugh out loud. “Idiot,” he let out affectionately.

“Clotpole,” Merlin hummed in return.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter to progress the plot. I hope you like it nonetheless!

This was fine. This was absolutely fine. Merlin could live like this.

He watched as Arthur recounted a somewhat altered version of their narrow escape to a bewildered Leon, who clearly seemed upset for having wasted so much worry on the two of them.

“I am glad you are safe, Sire,” Leon said to Arthur, and then with a nod to his servant, “You too, Merlin.” He motioned to the group of knights behind him to turn back around, sending a couple of them to see if the criminals had escaped already.

Gwaine, who had let his head hang as soon as he heard that there would be no fighting here today, held his horse’s reigns until Merlin rode next to him.

“So,” he started, a mischievous twinkle already in his eye. “What really happened?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked innocently.

“Oh, come on! The Princess slayed twelve robbers by himself and you are even not muttering some protest about how that was not how it happened, and that there were only five of them, and you actually think they might have been ordinary travellers instead of bandits? Am I just to believe what Arthur is saying without any critical exclamations from his friend?”

“Aren’t you supposed to believe him at all times, what with you being a knight and all?”

Gwaine shrugged. “Officially, yes. But there are a lot of things I should officially be doing, such as fighting evil. Seeing that I am not getting to do the good parts today, I think I can do away with the formality as well. So spit it out! Did he get knocked out again?”

Merlin could hear someone scrape his throat, as Arthur drove up on his other side and shot both Merlin and Gwaine a dirty look. “I did not pass out,” Arthur said, although Gwaine was already giggling at the way the Prince’s forehead coloured red. Arthur puffed his chest out, desperately trying to stare his knight into silence. “I’ll have you know that there were, in fact, twelve robbers. And although some of them were disposed of by Leon or by… luck…” Arthur’s face turned even redder, and Merlin could feel his own flush as well – “…most of them were taken down by me, yes. And there was no getting ‘knocked out’, as you put it, involved on my side.”

“Actually-“ Merlin started. The look that Arthur shot him was full of not only daggers, but also deadly vipers, broadswords and promises of weeks in the nastiest of Camelot’s dungeons. It did not go unnoticed by Gwaine either. He clapped Merlin on the shoulder with a force that almost sent him flying. “I knew that I could count on you, Merls.”

Arthur’s eyebrows arched at the nickname, although it might also be a reminder to Merlin to finish his sentence in a way that would let him spend the night in his own bed.

“You are right about the number of men,” Merlin said quickly, “and also definitely about the way you defeated them. It was very impressive.” This earned him a wary look from Arthur, and even more laughter from Gwaine.

“It’s just- you keep referring to them as robbers,” Merlin said. This had been bothering him a lot. On top of all the other, more obvious things that were bothering him right now, that was.

“I knew it!” Gwaine exclaimed. “Arthur attacked some mills again, didn’t he?”

Arthur opened his mouth with as much affront as a fish who has just found out he cannot breathe air, but Merlin intervened before Arthur could respond.

“They were definitely people, and they also meant us harm,” he clarified. “But that’s the thing. They didn’t try to steal something and get away after, which is what any self-preserving thief would do when faced with prince Arthur of Camelot and the Terrifying Merlin.”

This earned him an incredulous yet somewhat amused look from Arthur, and Merlin found himself smiling despite everything. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to have Arthur know about his magic, no matter how disapproving he might be. For one thing, it vastly increased his already considerable repertoire for getting a rise out of Arthur. And frankly, it was nice to see Arthur keep his secret. The prince might think Merlin a criminal, but his silence on the subject proved that somewhere, very deep down, Arthur still cared about his manservant. That was enough for now. He could live with that. It was all fine.

Gwaine’s voice shook him from his contemplations.

“So if they weren’t bandits or peasants, what reason did they have for attacking you?” Gwaine’s eyes widened in glee at his realisation. “We are at war with some kingdom again, aren’t we? I knew I must have missed something during the last council meeting. Or the one before that. Or actually, all of them. How long have we been at war for, did you say?”

“We’re not at war with anyone,” Arthur said. “And please, try to stay awake during the next council meeting. They really are important.” The weariness in his tone suggested they had had this conversation before, and that the prince had very little faith in a new reminder having any effect.

Indeed, Gwaine started to sputter in protest, but Merlin interrupted him before the whole conversation could descend into a quarrel about which council member was the least boring (“None of them,” Gwaine would undoubtedly argue).

“They didn’t wear the colours of any king I know,” Merlin said. “From the way they were talking to m-…to each other, I thought they might be a small group of rebels, or men sent to kidnap the prince in order to catch some ransom.”

“You are right,” Arthur said. If it had been any other time, Merlin would not have let him live that concession down. It was quite rare for the prince to admit Merlin was right, even though he practically always was.

“It is still hard to fathom, though,” Arthur continued. “Why would they attack us now? Hardly anybody knew we would set out today, and we weren’t headed on any controversial quest either.”

Now Merlin had to admit that the prince had a point. There was no real reason for them to be attacked. The kingdom was in peace, the vast majority of its subjects happy. The journey they had been undertaking was a short one, and its destination familiar. Accompanied by sir Leon and his loyal, magical, reckless manservant, prince Arthur would visit Dorothea. It was a place quite close to the city of Camelot, and many of servants, guards and cooks that inhabited the castle were originally from this quiet town. When it came to light that there had been an epidemic of a particularly nasty, yet completely harmless case of the flu, it was decided that the prince would bring a visit to the stricken town. This visit was mostly symbolical, to give the sick a diversion from their suffering, and promise help should their illness worsen. Merlin would be there to offer some medical advice, which wouldn’t be too hard given the nature of their illness. All in all, a perfectly simple, perfectly safe trip.

“Maybe they thought we were somebody else?” Merlin offered. “Although I find it hard to believe there are any more royal prats like you prancing around in Camelot’s borders.”

“Even outside the borders it is hard to find someone so particularly - what did you call it? – prattish,” Gwaine grinned. A tired groan escaped Arthur’s mouth.

“This is a serious matter, sir Gwaine,” the prince said. “The kingdom might be under attack. It is of vital importance to find out who these men were working for.” He pondered the question for a moment, then turned to Merlin.

“Do you think this could be the work of the druids?” he suggested, and Merlin’s stomach sank. He had clearly been a fool for thinking he would so easily be forgiven.

“Why would Merlin know anything about druids?” Gwaine asked. Merlin shot Arthur a pleading look.

“Because he sometimes provides them with medical care,” Arthur said. The lie, which wasn’t really a lie, came out steady and fast. It made Merlin wonder if Arthur had been preparing to ask him this question. The thought made him nauseous. Was this how it would be from now on? Arthur making barely concealed jabs at him to show him he was not accepted, and ought to be trusted as much as the outlawed druids? Would it be worth it to continue living by Arthur’s side if it meant a life of thinly veiled hostility and hatred? Could he do that? He swallowed, remembering the dragon’s prophecy. It seemed like he had no choice.

“I don’t think it’s the druids,” Merlin said. “They are a peaceful people. Besides,” he added icily, “if it had been the druids, they wouldn’t have bothered wasting themselves on swords.”

He could see Arthur’s throat bob, and the prince looked away. Good. This was not a game Arthur got to play alone. If he wanted to remind Merlin that he was unlawful, Merlin would just remind him that his magic could blow him to smithereens in the blink of an eye. Served him right.

“Say, Merlin, have you ever thought of joining the druids?” Gwaine said. How on earth? Merlin looked up in shock to find a teasing smile on Gwaine’s face. Of course. He was only joking. “Because you are terrible with a sword?” Gwaine explained when nobody laughed. This was met with even more silence. “Okay, noted. Suggesting Merlin join a group of banned sorcerers is not appreciated. Won’t happen again.” When even this did not elicit a snigger from one of his friends, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “By the gods, you guys are moody. I’ll just leave you two to your politics. If you need me, I’ll be in the tavern, drinking and frivolling with young ladies who are very much attracted to the fact that I am not a serious bore. That, and my devilish good looks, of course.” And with that, he made his horse accelerate and left the conversation, red cape billowing dramatically behind his back.

***

The King watched from his throne as the hall before him filled with people. His own son came forward. As always, Arthur’s gaze was watchful and cautious when he approached his father. It was a demeanour to suit a crown prince. If only Arthur would behave around other people the same way. Uther’s eyes flicked over the rest of the convoy. Gaius’s boy was not hard to find. He stood with the other servants for a change. Good. Uther was quite sick of the way that Merlin seemed to stick around his son. For someone with absolute disregard of policies, politeness and proper form, the boy did take that part of his job very seriously. Not for the first time, Uther wondered if he had done right in appointing Merlin as Arthur’s manservant. By letting his heir grow attached to a mere commoner, he had given his son yet another vulnerability. As if he didn’t have enough already. That boy was too sensitive and caring for his own good. One could hardly kill a fly without hurting Arthur’s feelings in some way. Uther had tried to change that, to harden him up. He had attempted anything he could think of, yet nothing had prevailed. Arthur had a kindness in him that could not be driven out. Uther sighed. He must have inherited that part of his character from Ygraine.

Sometimes it would be too painful, how much Arthur reminded him of her. It weren’t even the obvious things – his eyes, his golden hair, the line of his nose. No, the things that hurt the most were the completely unexpected things. A certain tilt of the head, a particular tone of voice. They stung like knives time after time. He feared he never would get used to it.

Uther regarded his son again. The hard lines now visible on the young man’s face were mimics of his own features – devoid of the softness that Uther could glimpse in his son’s features on more unguarded moments. Arthur would never allow himself to slack in the company of the king. But sometimes, Uther would see his son alone, or with that servant of his. The smiles would whisk Uther back in time, to when Arthur was hardly more than a little boy. That excitement, that joy, was still alive in the prince, yet hidden from his father’s eyes. It would sadden Uther sometimes, to be excluded thus. Yet it had to be done. He had a king to raise, and kings had no business being children, no matter their age.

Still, Arthur looked hardly more than a child as he explained how the morning had gone. Barely armed, with only one knight to protect him, the prince had gotten himself ambushed again. Uther sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose. Why couldn’t the boy be more responsible? How was Arthur ever going to govern a kingdom if he could barely keep himself alive?

“Who were the assailants working for?” he demanded, not even bothering to look up.

“We do not know for sure, Sire,” he could hear his son reply. Uther had to suppress a groan.

“Did you not keep any of them alive to interrogate?” He could not believe he had to remind the crown prince of even the most basic procedures.

“We did, but they managed to escape.” Uther did not have to look at his son to know that the confident mask was about to crumble completely. He shook his head in disapproval.

“Did they take anything?”

“No,” came the quick, almost relieved response. “We suspect they did not intend to rob us. Instead, it is possible their goal was to abduct me.”

Abduction. That was an interesting conclusion, Uther thought. “Why would they abduct you, rather than kill you?”

A silence fell over the throne room. Uther finally deigned to look at his son. The prince scraped his throat uncomfortably. “We were outnumbered,” Arthur brought out, levelling his gaze with that of his father. “If they would have wanted me dead, they had ample opportunity.”

Uther almost sneered at such a foolish confession. He reminded himself to take Arthur aside once this was over. _Never admit defeat in front of your people_, he would say. _Have you learned nothing at all?_

“Right,” Uther said. “From now on, you will be flanked by at least two guards. Whoever these men are, they failed this time, but they might try again.” He watched the group of knights nod among each other in agreement. Narrowing his eyes, he addressed the crowd, raising his voice to inspire fear in even the deafest of them.

“There is a more important thing to be learned from this,” he announced. “The Crown Prince’s visit to Dorothea was meant to be a surprise, and therefore only known to few. For these men to have intercepted them so quickly, they must have had information from inside the castle.” He paused to let the implication sink in. “There is a spy in Camelot.”

Uther let his eyes wander over the servants, ministers and knights gathered in the throne room. Some of them shifted uncomfortably, yet none betrayed any signs of guilt.

“These men mean to abduct my heir. It is not impossible that they are working for a sorcerer meaning to bewitch the prince of Camelot.”

Arthur shrank away at this remark. His son had the dangerous habit of thinking the best of everyone, even sorcerers, and Uther’s ban on magic always made him uncomfortable. Uther grimaced. His son might want to give sorcerers another chance, but Uther knew better. He had given a magic a chance already, and it had killed the woman he loved most in the world. Uther only had to look at his son to feel the familiar ache, and to know that magic would never have a place in Camelot again.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I got a bit carried away with this chapter. I hope you like it :)

Arthur wanted nothing more than to sleep and wake up when all of this mess was over. It had been a week since his foiled visit to Dorothea, and everything and everyone was terrible. The thought of a spy within the castle had everyone on edge, but despite house searches, increased patrols, interrogations and an extreme vigilance for signs of sorcery, no suspect had been found. This meant several things. First, that this spy was awfully skilful in escaping the guards’ attention. Secondly, that anyone could be the spy, which finally lead Uther to the conclusion that no one except Arthur and a few ministers were to be trusted. This in turn led to the very tiresome result of Arthur having to shoulder half a council’s worth of ruling. As if this wasn’t enough, Uther made them convene at the most unlikely times, to confuse the spy. Unfortunately, it also confused Arthur a lot. Besides, he could hardly imagine the spy would be interested in the harvests of outlying villages, which was what most of these meetings seemed to be about. 

With all these extra responsibilities and the continued threat of abduction, the prince spent most of his time holed up in his rooms. He would still have his trainings with the knights every day, but even those were cut short. It felt like years since he had last smelled the fresh air of the woods, or the rotting fish of the city market. Gods, he would give anything to just ride his horse again.  
Everything together, the prince just felt miserable. He was sick of his room, sick of the paperwork, sick of the sneaking around. He just wanted to sleep until his head stopped spinning.  
Yes, there was that as well. A headache had been building up all week now, making his eyes swim and his brain feel like mush. He would have seen Gaius about it, except then it would come out that he had been knocked down by those men. Arthur would rather suffer a concussion than see that smug grin on Gwaine’s face.  
Of course, if things were different, he wouldn’t have to suffer so. He could have just asked Merlin to take a look at his head, maybe steal some herbs from Gaius to soothe the pain. But things between him and Merlin had changed, and now he didn’t dare to ask such a favour anymore.

Just as he was pondering this, his manservant walked in. He still didn’t knock, Arthur noticed. He was surprised by how much that pleased him. If only the other things had stayed the same, too.  
It was hard to be around Merlin nowadays. Despite their promise never to speak of what had happened in the woods, there had grown a distance between the two friends. Arthur could see it now in the way Merlin held himself while he babbled about some kitchen gossip. Though it would require a lot more to completely shut him up, the manservant wasn’t half as loud as he used to be. During the past week, there had often fallen silences that were not altogether comfortable, if only because they never had existed before. Merlin had also started to keep a physical distance from the prince. He would only hang around when needed, and leave as soon as Arthur picked up his paperwork. 

More often than not, Arthur was tempted to ask him to stay, if only to dispel some of the loneliness that washed over him in this stuffy room. But Arthur knew that wouldn’t be fair. Merlin was doing everything that was asked of him with uncharacteristic efficiency. Arthur only assumed that meant he wanted to spend as little time as possible in Arthur’s presence. Not that he’d forgo any of his tasks – he still cleaned Arthur’s room, polished his armour, dressed and undressed him each day. But all of it was done carefully, attentively, and distantly, as if he were walking on eggshells.   
Arthur hated it, hated the way they were now, but he could understand. And he could not complain. After all, he’d complained about Merlin not being a proper manservant for years. But he had never meant those things. He had liked the boy’s laziness, his halfway work, the way he would get distracted by anything that wasn’t his job. Now that Merlin actually did what he was supposed to do, it felt like a loss. It felt like the man he knew had disappeared, and had been replaced by an imposter.   
Arthur swallowed, watching as Merlin changed his sheets. He’d never known you could miss someone when they’re right next to you. He’d never thought he’d have to miss Merlin at all.  
But the fact was that he did. And the fact was that he was lonely, and miserable, and in desperate need to talk to someone he could trust. It didn’t even matter what they talked about – Arthur was just sick of suspecting everyone, sick of only ever talking politics with old men. 

Arthur wanted to go hunting again, and for Merlin to scare of all the deer. The thought of Merlin stumbling loudly through the shrubs brought about such a sudden ache in his chest that it almost took his breath away. When he looked at his manservant again, Arthur could just see the door close behind Merlin. The boy had left so silently that Arthur didn’t notice until his room was once again empty.

This had to stop. Arthur combed his fingers through his hair, pulling as if he could tear the pain from his head out through his hair. He could not bear to live like this anymore. To hell with principles, to hell with what Uther wanted. What Arthur wanted was his friend back, and there was no one who could stop him.

Determined, Arthur put away his paperwork. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on possible cases of tax evasion anyways. Besides, he had more important things to think about. If he were to apologise to Merlin, he would have to do it right. After all, he still didn’t want to encourage Merlin in his desires – that would not only complicate their friendship, but endanger his friend as well. Uther’s hatred against magic was new, but the kingdom’s intolerance of homosexuality had been instated centuries ago. Though it wasn’t punished as frequently and severely as magic, executions or imprisonment were possible, and to be avoided at all costs. The thought of losing Merlin in such a definitive way… Arthur shook his head. He was too close to insanity as it was to even ponder on such a possibility.

No, he had to keep Merlin safe and by his side. But to do that, he would have to apologise to him first.  
Arthur hated to admit it, but apologies were not something he had a lot of experience with. As the crown prince, apologies were made to him, hardly ever by him. Yet is was vital that he did this, and did it well. 

Sighing, he stood up, stretching in a warm beam of sunlight. He was going to need advice. And there was really only one person he could go to.

***

Seated on her satin sheets, Morgana looked over at her maidservant. Gwen was busy hanging her lady’s freshly washed dresses in the wardrobe, giving Morgana ample time to watch her elegant figure. When Gwen turned around and saw Morgana looking, a flustered smile spread over her face.

Morgana tapped on the bed, and Gwen sat down beside her. Morgana could see that Guinevere’s hands were trembling, and took them in her own. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Morgana whispered. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” her lover replied. “This is just a bit…” she searched for the word, “…new.” A smile spread over the servant’s face as she said it.

Gwen was right, of course. It was new. It was as fresh as a flower bud in March, still covered in morning dew. It was just as beautiful, too. To know, after so many years, that her feelings were returned. To be able to look at Guinevere without that pang of guilt, instead letting warm love engulf her. No flower could compete with that.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Morgana asked, just to be sure. 

“Of course not!” Gwen let out, horrified at the suggestion.

“Good,” Morgana drawled. “Because I really want to kiss you.”

Softly, Morgana cupped Gwen’s face with her hand. She could see the other girl blush, and the sight made her heart blossom.   
“Are you certain we won’t be seen, milady?” Gwen asked, her eyes flitting to the window. She looked down, playing with the fabric of Morgana’s dress. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble because of me.“

Morgana stopped her, placing a finger on her servant’s lips. With a small smile, she regarded Gwen – her flushed cheeks, her shiny curls, those soft lips underneath her finger – until the worry disappeared from the brunette’s face, and she looked up at Morgana with a smile that could shatter the sun. Although she’d told herself to keep her composure, Morgana could feel herself beaming back. For a second, Morgana wondered if Gwen had magic, too. How else could she explain the feeling that washed over her at the sight of those big brown eyes? Morgana, the distant, stubborn girl, disappeared when Guinevere looked at her. Instead, there was warmth, and so much love that it frightened the King’s ward, or should frighten her, if only she could feel fear in Gwen’s presence. No, if Morgana was under a spell, it was that spell that even the most unmagical could practise – love. And as Morgana removed her silencing finger, and replaced it with her lips, she knew there was no one she would rather be bewitched by.

***

Arthur left his room with a power in his step that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was taking destiny in his own hands. He was bringing his life back on track.   
Locking his room – another precaution Uther had installed in the past week – Arthur could feel the heat of the guards flanking his door. They were men he knew, had seen a dozen times before. Ian with the red hair, Peter who had only one ear. They were men he knew by name, if nothing else.  
But now, struggling with his lock, he looked them over again, and wondered what Merlin would see. Would the freckles that covered Ian’s face like drops of paint evoke desire in his friend? Would he see the full lips under his moustache, and dream of kissing them? Would he wish for Peter’s muscled arms around him when he went to sleep? Would he want to trace his scars like they were lines upon a map, leading him –

Arthur abruptly stopped himself. There was no reason to continue on this train of thought. Unable to face the guards, he left, fist closed tight around his key. He did not look up till he heard women’s voices. He smiled at the two servant girls, letting his eyes take in their curves and charms until the churning in his stomach disappeared. Were they not sweet and beautiful? Why were they not good enough? Could Merlin not simply do as Arthur did, and redirect his gaze?

***

Morgana’s one hand was lost in Guinevere’s curls, the other used to keep herself upright upon the bed. She could feel Gwen’s thumb stroking her chin, so gently, as if Morgana would be broken. Their kisses, first slow and tender, full of smiles and lips and softness, were starting to get rougher. Morgana knew Gwen was holding back, never wanting to be imposing, but the way she pressed her mouth against Morgana’s was strong and full of want. Morgana pushed her tongue inside Gwen’s mouth, and soon its counterpart was met, curling inside each other, their grasping hands more energetic now. Morgana let her teeth bite down on Gwen’s lower lip, and the sound that escaped from the back of Gwen’s throat almost made her mad with desire. Oh, she could see it now, to have that girl underneath her, squirming in delight and lost innocence. And Gwen had so much innocence to lose… It was a good thing they had time, all the time they wanted, if not today then tomorrow or in eternity. There was no need to rush, except Morgana wanted the rush, but then again these kisses were so good, so good. They could wait with all the rest, if Gwen so wanted. Just please, Morgana thought, never stop kissing me. 

***

Arthur made his way through the corridors with his head held high. It felt good to walk again, to think about something other than politics. He imagined Merlin with that ludicrously big smile of his lighting up his whole face. Maybe he cared more than he wanted to. It didn’t matter anymore. They would be back to old again so very soon. The thought made Arthur’s heart leap.

In his enthusiasm, he forgot to knock. 

***

Morgana didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. She didn’t hear the handle turn. And by the time she heard the door slam open, it was already too late.   
The first thing Morgana saw as her eyes opened, was Gwen’s mortified face. The fear, the shame written on it were enough to make Morgana’s blood boil. Whoever had just swung open her door had better start running, before she struck them down with every ounce of magic in her veins.

Anger and magic crackling the air, she turned her face towards the door. Let them hang her if they could. She would not apologise. She would not accept the blame. She’d see Camelot in flames before she’d let herself or Guinevere be hurt. Let them try to catch them. Oh, she’d love to see them try.

***

Arthur wanted to die on the spot. He actually, actively, acutely wanted to fall to the earth and never rise again. He wanted to go up in smoke and scratch everything he had just seen with a scalpel from his eyeballs.

Morgana looked as if she very much desired the same fate for him.

Arthur watched as his foster sister squeezed the hand of her servant. Her servant, who was her lover, who was a woman, who was Gwen. 

“You are dismissed,” she said calmly, all the passion that had been flowing between them suddenly dispelled. 

Gwen scrambled from the bed and gathered her skirts in one frantic motion. Unable to look either of them in the eyes, she sped past Arthur, who set one dazed step aside to let her pass. Arthur couldn’t help but notice how her messy her hair was, how swollen her lips. He could swear she said something to him, an apology of some sort, but all he could think about was how her arm had been draped around Morgana’s neck, their faces mushed together, their bodies so close they had seemed one person in two dresses.   
He wondered how it would feel, to be so close to someone, to be so passionately loved. If he hadn’t said those things to Merlin, would they have ended up like this, a single person in different clothes, messy and dishevelled on the sheets of his bed? Would he have minded that Merlin was a boy if they were so close? Would it have made a difference with his eyes closed?  
Arthur forced himself to think about something else, anything else. He did not want Merlin like this, not at all. And even if he did, he couldn’t. Morgana couldn’t. This was illegal, a gross indecency, a direct dismissal of Camelot’s laws.

Morgana had risen from the bed, her anger palpable and electric in the air, but Arthur was not in a mood to be intimidated.

“What the hell was that?” he spoke up, voice lined with accusations. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Morgana lunged towards him, and Arthur involuntarily took a step back. For a second, he thought she would reach for his throat and strangle him. In the last second, she seemed to change her mind, and went for the door next to him instead, slamming it shut with so much force that the wood quivered in its hinges.

“Why are you here?” she hissed, venom in her eyes.

Arthur squared up. “I just caught you in some very inappropriate behaviour, Morgana,” he said, cringing at how lecturing he sounded. “I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

He watched as Morgana relaxed her muscles, although her expression remained cautious. 

“Whatever,” she said, turning her back to him and sauntering back to bed, where she sat down. “Ask away, oh mighty prince.”

Arthur decided to ignore the sneer for now. There were more important matters at hand.

“Are you certain Guinevere can be trusted?”

Morgana huffed. “It would be quite useless for her to be a spy. After all, Uther doesn’t deign to tell me anything of importance. No, if I were an evil sorcerer meaning to gain information about the court, I know whose servant I would want to be my spy.”

“I thought Merlin was your friend.”

“I thought Gwen was yours.”

Now it was Arthur who could feel the anger rising in his chest. 

“Don’t you dare blame this on Gwen,” he spat out. “We both know this wasn’t her idea.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Arthur swallowed, knowing full well that what he was about to say would not go down well. “You’re just doing this to get a rise out of Uther.”

Within the blink of an eye, Morgana was upon him. Arthur didn’t know how she had gotten to him so quickly, or where she got the knife from that was now pressed against his throat.  
“Don’t you ever say that again!”

Despite his heart beating awfully fast – he wasn’t afraid, was he? – Arthur kept his voice steady.

“Have you not committed enough crimes yet? Do you really have to add regicide to the list?”

The blade was pressed harder into his flesh. “I love her,” Morgana punctuated. “Besides, you aren’t king yet.”

Arthur almost smiled. “Still treason, though,” he said. Gingerly, he took her hand, and removed the knife from its hazardous position. Morgana let him. He noticed with some relief that the blade was still clean. Clearly her intentions weren’t as murderous as she claimed.

“I understand that you think you love her,” Arthur started, moving just fast enough to stop a second attack with the knife, “but you cannot do this.”

“Says who?” Morgana demanded, chin held high.

“Says the King,” Arthur answered. “Says the law and the people and common decency.”

Morgana looked away, shaking her head. When she spoke again, it was through clenched teeth.  
“The law and common decency can change. We can change them, if you want.”

“I don’t see why I would want such a thing,” Arthur replied coldly. “Besides, we cannot change anything. Only the king can change the law, and he won’t be persuaded.”

Morgana sneered. “Uther won’t be king forever.”

In a reflex, Arthur placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “This is truly beginning to sound a lot like treason.”

His movement had not gone unnoticed, but rather than shrinking away in fear, Morgana just laughed.

“What will you do, brother mine? Kill me for my love? Hand me over to the guards?” She let out a laugh again. 

“Of course not,” Arthur glowered. “Because you’ll stop this nonsense right now.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Arthur let his hand slide off his hilt, running it through his hair. He was so tired of it all. He had gone to Morgana for advice, and now he was faced with the choice of either betraying his sister or his father. He sighed. His head hurt so much. First Merlin, then Morgana and Gwen. Why couldn’t anyone keep their wits about them?

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he brought out. He didn’t want any of his friends to get hurt, no matter how stupid or illegal their love. He had promised to keep Merlin’s secret, but how many more would he have to carry? He didn’t want responsibility over their lives or death.

“Don’t worry,” Morgana told him, “I can take care of myself.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the thing his father always did when he was piqued.

“No,” Arthur said. “No, you cannot.”

He opened his eyes, and levelled his gaze to Morgana’s. His anger has long ago flooded away. There was just a weary sadness left.

“You have to stop this, Morgana. I don’t care how much it will hurt. You cannot keep hiding this forever, especially not if you’re being this careless. You are lucky it was me who caught you. If it had been Uther, you would be burning on a pyre by now.”

“Uther doesn’t have enough pyres to burn me for all my sins,” Morgana said, though most of the feistiness had left her voice. She shook her head and looked down. It took Arthur a few moments to realise she was crying.

“If I cannot be myself,” she sniffed, her voice so fragile for someone so strong, “then what use is my life to me? I’d rather burn myself right here than live a lifetime in regret.”

“Please don’t,” Arthur said, and he noticed how strangled he sounded. He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Morgana, pulling her closely against him as she cried. They stood together for a long time, Morgana dampening his shirt, Arthur pressing his face against her hair to hide his own tears. He did not want to lose her, and yet he knew what she had meant. He could pretend it was alright to live as other dictated, but that wasn’t true. The truth was that it hurt. It hurt more than anything else he could imagine. But they were royals, and they had people who looked up to them. There were things they simply couldn’t do, no matter how much it ached.

“Can’t you just try to suppress it? To look the other way?” Arthur tried, one last time. If only she could. It would solve so many problems. It truly wasn’t that hard. She could do it, if only she tried.  
He could hear Morgana make sound that might have been a laugh, albeit a short and cheerless one.

“Is that what you do?”

Arthur didn’t answer.

“It doesn’t work, you know,” Morgana continued. Arthur knew she was choosing her words with care. “I tried for years, and I thought I managed. But it only takes one person to shatter the façade. And once you’re forced to stop lying to yourself, it’s impossible to go back.”

Arthur nodded, but he knew it didn’t matter. He and Morgana were not the same. His sister did not have a kingdom to inherit, a people to protect. Arthur could not allow himself the luxury of being who he wanted. 

He guessed Morgana thought the same, because she untangled herself from his embrace and looked into his eyes. Cupping his face with both hands, her voice carried worry and weight.

“You will be a good king, Arthur,” she promised. “And it will be because you’re you.”

She wiped away the tears that slid unwillingly from his eyes.

“We can all see it,” she said, “I believe even Uther can. But you have to believe in yourself. And you have to allow yourself to be happy. You cannot care for anyone if you are too busy worrying about what your father or your ministers or your servants want you to be, rather than listen to your heart.”  
She placed one hand on his chest, and pressed gently.

“You know right from wrong. And sometimes, there will be laws and opinions and codes to stop you from doing the right thing. But that doesn’t make it wrong. If you truly think, in your heart, that what I feel for Guinevere is wrong, then I will try to stop feeling it, because I trust you with my heart.”

He could feel her gaze burning him, but it took him some time to find his voice again. His breathing ached, but he knew Morgana was right. He had always known, somewhere.

“Just be careful,” he murmured, and turned to leave. He felt like breaking down, and didn’t want Morgana to see him like this. He knew she loved him and would help him, but some things were better worked through alone.

“Wait!” Morgana blurted out. “You never told me why you came here today.”

A small smile played on Arthur’s lips. 

“I wanted to ask you some advice. But I think I already know what you would say.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again very sorry this took so long. In the past couple of days, I've decided to rewrite the plotline for this story, since my original idea had started to disagree with me. While this chapter is a bit of a filler for the next one, I hope you still enjoy it. 
> 
> Please be warned that this chapter contains A Lot of internalised homophobia, as well as mentions of physical illness.
> 
> I really want to thank everyone who has left me a kudos, comment or bookmark. It means so much to me, and motivates me to continue writing this silly fic.

Lord Vargan rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. It was the middle of the night, but the King had summoned him for yet another furtive council meeting. Almost three hours later, he was finally allowed to return to his comfortable bed.

The lord was proud to belong to the select group of confidantes invited to these meetings, but he had to admit they were taking their toll. The meetings were important, he knew that better than anyone, although the importance of keeping certain secret quite escaped him. Fortunately for him, it was not his place to question these decisions. All he had to do was obey, and keep his eyes open. Anything remotely suspicious would have to be called in. After all, there was no knowing who among the castle’s occupants was the spy.  
Lord Vargan smiled wryly. He would quite like to see Uther’s face when the king found out who had betrayed him. After all, it would have to be someone who was trusted by the king, which would undoubtedly make the betrayal feel more personal. Especially if the spy was one of the king’s most trusted ministers, and still continued to pass on information despite all the King’s precautions and nocturnal gatherings. Wouldn’t that be a wretched thing to find out? Lord Vargan could hardly imagine the blow this would deliver to the King’s confidence. After all, Uther had always had a knack for paranoia.

Oh yes, tumultuous times would surely be ahead. As the primary weapon supplier in Camelot, Lord Vargan could not claim he disapproved of the prospect. War was always good on his pockets, and they were intolerably empty these days. Any extra income would be quite welcome, and rather sooner than later.  
Thinking thus, the nobleman made his way through the empty corridors of the castle. His footsteps echoed eerily through the hallways, torches making the shadows on the wall dance. Despite being certain that no one would be roaming here at this ungodly hour, lord Vargan cast a furtive look over his shoulder. The way he had come from was shrouded in darkness, and a cold shiver ran over his body.

Outside the castle, a bird screeched. Casting a look outside onto the courtyard, lord Vargan fastened his eyes on the glimpses of light in the vast darkness – torches, cooking fires, illuminated rooms. Letting his eyes slide past the yellow windows, he searched the part of the castle opposite him for familiar figures, hoping their silhouettes would give away what kept them awake so late.  
It was then that a sudden movement attracted the lord’s attention. Peering through the dusty glass, lord Vargan could make out two figures, and then a flash, blinding and fierce, of hellish blue light.  
It was over before he could fully process what had happened, the darkness returning with incredible speed, leaving a red stain over his vision. Swiftly, the man stepped away from the window, trying to create as much distance as possible until his back was pressed against the wall. Steadying his breath, he tried to order his thoughts and understand what he had just witnessed.  
Magic. There was no other explanation.

Taking a deep breath, the lord felt steady enough to pry his back free from the cold stones. A smile played on his thin lips. The figures of the sorcerers had been small and distant, yet he had a feeling they were no strangers. Taking a tentative step toward the window, he counted the rooms on the other wing on the castle. When he reached the window of the sorcerers’ hide-out, his suspicions were confirmed. Where his smile had been slight before, it now spread across his face with cruel glee. This is was a very interesting turn indeed.  
Turning on his heel, lord Vargan headed into the darkness before him, stride more certain and energetic than it had been in weeks. There was a purpose to his step that veered him away from his bedchambers. They would have to wait for now – there were more important things at play.  
Someone was about to receive some long-anticipated news, and lord Vargan did not want to keep him in suspense.

**

Arthur had only just arrived in his chambers, yet he was already pacing around impatiently. Although the prince did not know where his servant was at this moment – Merlin had been sent away for the night long ago – Arthur knew he would soon appear. After every council meeting, no matter how late they took place, Merlin would await Arthur in his room, ready to undress him in silence and leave the prince to sleep a couple of minutes later. Arthur had insisted this wasn’t necessary, that he felt sorely charged for making Merlin sacrifice his sleep and that he was perfectly able to send himself to bed. But Merlin would just roll his eyes, and wait stubbornly until Arthur would tell him when he would be finished.

Arthur knew that he was stupid to confide the times of his secret councils to Merlin. A few weeks ago, the mere suggestion of Merlin being a spy would have sounded ludicrous to him, but a lot had changed since then. It would be possible that Arthur’s rejection had made the man bitter and hellbent on revenge. Uther would certainly argue that, if he knew what was going on. But Uther did not know, and Arthur could not seriously entertain the idea that Merlin was a spy for more than a few seconds. Despite his changed demeanour, this was still Merlin. That boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.  
Besides, it wouldn’t matter whether Arthur told him the time of the meetings or not. Yesterday, the prince had hoped to sneak out after dinner, hoping to confuse Merlin into leaving him alone for the rest of the night. Upon his return to his room, however, Arthur had found his manservant fast asleep in a chair, curled up against the wooden back, a soft snore singing in the back of his throat.

  
Arthur had stood there a long time, watching Merlin. The boy could hardly be comfortable on the wooden seat, yet he slept on, oblivious of Arthur’s attention. The prince had meant to wake him up immediately, if only because the cramped position would surely make Merlin sore the next day. Yet despite these intentions, Arthur hadn’t moved. He had stood there, afraid to move, watching Merlin’s chest rise and fall. He didn’t know how long he stood there, mesmerised by his servant’s face, the long lashes resting on pale cheeks, exhaustion making his cheekbones even more prominent. A calm settled over Arthur as he stood there, thoughtless and silent. He hadn’t felt this calm in ages, maybe ever.

His concentration had been broken when Merlin moved in his sleep, and the calm fled, leaving only ruthless anxiety in its wake. What was Arthur thinking, staring at his servant like that? Morgana’s words came into his mind, but he dismissed them impatiently. Merlin was not an option, not someone to secretly leer at and fantasise about. Merlin was his friend, if he could still call him that. He was a man hurt by Arthur. To involve him in any more of Arthur’s dubitations would be torture, and Arthur could not do that to him.  
So rather than getting caught staring, or worse, being left with his thoughts, Arthur had shaken Merlin awake. He had tried to be gentle, truly, but for some reason his nerves were in a state, and he caused his servant to fall out of the chair rather gracelessly.

“Ow!” Merlin had exclaimed, rubbing his elbow where it had hit the floor. “What did you do that for?”  
Arthur had apologised, sort of. To be precise, he had grumbled something about how sleeping in chairs was bad for your back, but he figured Merlin would understand.

“Well, I’m sorry I slept so dangerously,” Merlin had said, rubbing his eyes. “If you insist, I’ll just hop into your bed next time. Considering how much difficulty you have with getting out of it each morning, my expectations about those pillows are through the roof.”

Merlin had walked around the room for a little while longer, blabbering about how many pillows one person could possibly need, but Arthur forced himself to stop listening. The idea of Merlin in his bed sent all the thoughts he had so carefully stowed away cascading onto him again. Fully aware of his flushed face, he interrupted Merlin halfway through a sentence.

  
“You can leave now,” he had said, sounding harsher than he meant. “I can undress myself tonight.”

The words were followed by a wave of regret when he saw the smile melt of Merlin’s face. For a moment, it had almost seemed as if they were the same again, as if the whole incident in the woods was just a dream. But it hadn’t been a dream, and although Arthur was more than willing to leave the whole thing behind them, Merlin had taken his jokes too far this time. His manservant seemed to realise the same thing, and turned his clouded face towards the door, shoulders sagging almost imperceptibly.

“Merlin,” Arthur had called, stopping him. “It was kind of you to wait for me.”

It wasn’t enough, wasn’t close to all he wanted to say, but for now it would have to do.

“But I will need you again tomorrow, and you really ought to get some sleep,” he added, as if either of them would be fooled by excuses.

Merlin just shot him a faint smile.

“Goodnight, sire.”

The door had closed behind him without a sound.

Arthur undressed himself and fell into his bed. He had to fight to stay awake during the day, but now that he had finally landed on his mattress, the wretched sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, his thoughts kept returning to his conversation with Morgana. She had been right, he knew that. There were plenty of great kings who had lived happy lives, allowing themselves to enjoy what they wished. Arthur would not be an exception.

And still, it was hard.

He imagined himself king, his father’s crown sitting heavy on his head. This was no trouble – he had imagined this vision countless times, had been made to since childhood. But now, instead of fretting over his responsibilities as sovereign, he turned his face aside. The throne next to him had always been filled by a vague, shifting shape, taking on different faces whenever he tried to look close, but always a women. Arthur squeezed his eyes tight shut as he tried to change face. No more long, flowing hair, no smooth line of the jaw. His whole body seemed to oppose the change, tensing up and shaking. But Arthur was determined. Why was it so hard to even imagine living with a man at his side? A chorus of voices seemed to surround him, every instance in his life where people had assumed he spend his life with a woman, every time people referred to his future queen. It frightened Arthur that all he could conjure were other people’s reactions to his actions, and never the action itself. One by one, he eliminated the voices. Arthur would be king, so then his father would be dead, unable to comment. Uther’s voice softly drowned out. A ripple of excitement rolled through the prince, although he felt guilty that the idea of Uther’s death could produce it.

No, Arthur told himself, I will not allow myself into the spiral of guilt this time. He blotted out the ministers in his mind, the servants, the people of the city.

  
He imagined himself on his throne, in front of the empty throne room. Cautiously, he cast a look at the throne at his side. The blot in it simmered, always changing, but this time, it looked decidedly more like a man this time. It looked a lot like one particular man.

Arthur’s eyes shot open. Panting, he stared at the canopy over his bed. Beads of sweat stuck cold to his skin in the night air. The sheets around him were soaked, and every part of his body felt weak, stomach upset and head whirling.

With all his power, Arthur sat up. He inhaled deeply, exhaled shakily. How was it possible that a single picture could evoke so strong a reaction, so contrasted a response? How could he feel like he was struck by illness, his whole body fighting to keep out some fatal condition, when his heart, despite its rapid tempo, felt so calm? Arthur had a lively, somewhat anxious mind, and had imagined every possible horror in the past. Nothing had ever elicited such a response.

Nothing had ever taken such a weight off his heart, only to place it on his shoulders.

Even if he knew, somewhere in a small and hidden corner of his soul, that Morgana was right, that Arthur felt a tug in his stomach towards certain men that had nothing to do with friendship or respect and everything with attraction, even if he knew that a man might make him as happy as a woman could – even when he knew all those things deep down, breaking them through to the surface seemed almost impossible. His whole life he had been taught that desiring another man would be wrong, unnatural, forbidden. And here was his heart telling him that maybe, it wasn’t any of those things. Maybe it was just okay.

In the silence of his bedroom, the prince cried.

The next morning, he wasn’t torn out of his sleep by bright sunlight and senseless words. Instead, Merlin had placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s curved back, stroking it softly until the prince stirred. Arthur sat up slowly, scared to hurt his back after a night of sleeping with his forehead resting on his knees, sitting like a crying child.

“I think the chair would’ve been more comfortable than this, sire,” Merlin teased, though it hardly concealed his concern. When Arthur turned his face towards him, the compassion in his servant’s features was enough to make Arthur’s eyes water again. He quickly averted his gaze, and moved carefully to the edge of the bed. His whole body was protesting the movement, but he had to get out. He had things to do. He was the prince.

Two hands stopped him, light but certain on his shoulders.

“You are not going anywhere,” Merlin decided. Arthur let his friend lower his aching body back against the mattress without a struggle, although he did open his mouth to offer some form of protest.

“You’re ill, Arthur,” Merlin interrupted him. “You have a physician’s orders to stay in bed until you are well again.”

“Since when are you a physician?” Arthur muttered, hating how feeble his voice sounded. The throbbing in his head intensified, and he had to admit he wouldn’t mind some rest.

“I’m Gaius’s assistant, so I know what he would say. But now you’ve mentioned it, I’ll just go get him for you. I will inform the King of your condition.”

With those words, Merlin jumped up and left the room. Arthur considered leaving now, if only to pester his servant, but his body severely disliked the idea of rising from his comfortable bed. Before he knew it, Gaius was already in the room, feeling his forehead and grinding some stinking plant in a mortar.

Arthur must have dozed off for a moment, because the next time he opened his eyes, Gaius had left. The prince was seated on a chair – the same one Merlin had fallen asleep in the night before.  
Right now, his servant was changing the sheets on his bed. Arthur had never noticed how adeptly Merlin moved, smoothening the duvet with a few efficient movements. Since when had he become so capable?

“So you _can_ make a bed,” Arthur croaked, and Merlin whirled around, surprise making way for a smile.

“Of course I can,” he retorted, “I just prefer not to.”

Arthur shook his head, suddenly serious.

“You know I don’t mean it when I say you’re a bad servant, right?” he said, eager to let Merlin know. It felt wrong, all of a sudden, all the times he had been rude to a man who worked so hard, who would give his life for him. “I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, and Arthur thought he could see something like endearment pass over the man’s face, right before it got swiped away with a smirk.

  
“You really must be very ill if you’re starting to get sentimental like this,” Merlin said, and helped the prince stand up. Guiding him to his freshly made bed, Merlin told him he’d informed Uther, and that Arthur was excused until the next meeting.  
At that, Arthur let out a grateful sigh, and nestled himself between his pillows. He could swear he could hear Merlin laugh, although he wasn’t sure. Merlin had a nice laugh, he did know that. He wanted to hear it again, when he woke up, yes, then, not now, now he was sinking in a very nice sea, so soft. He was already asleep when Merlin left the room.

Arthur had not been awakened by Merlin’s laughter, though. He had woken from bustling fever dreams when one of Uther’s men had come to fetch him. It was the middle of the night, the King’s favourite time for councils. Groaning, Arthur had complied. He felt much better now some of the exhaustion had left his muscles, but not even Gaius’s medicine could cure his headache.  
Silently, Arthur sat through the meeting. He knew what to do to stop this pain, or at least lessen it. And he would do whatever was needed at this point, anything to be able to think again.  
He did not rejoice in the prospect, not at all. His stomach was a coiled up, nerves pestering him, sending shivers through his whole body as he paced back to his room. At first, it had been quite a relief to find it empty, any postponement welcome. But now he was pacing again, his temples throbbing, throat dry.

A knock resounded on his wooden door.

Arthur gulped. He could do this. It couldn’t be so hard. Everybody else did it.

“Come in,” he said, forcing himself to stand still. He sighed out in resolution. He was going to do this.

Arthur Pendragon was going to talk about his feelings.


	5. Chapter Five

Gwen stared at the basket sitting by her side. It was filled with neatly folded piles of freshly laundered dresses, ready to be delivered to Lady Morgana’s chambers. Gwen stretched her arms, which were aching from all the hard work of today. She desperately longed to sleep, but sleep was a luxury not often permitted to her these days. She would either spend the night alone in her own bed, unable to fall asleep without Morgana’s body warming her, or spend it in her mistress’s bed, tossing and turning with fear of being found like this.

She had tried to keep herself busy, knowing she would collapse as soon as she let herself pause, but it hadn’t worked. There was an uneasiness reigning over her body that was not easily dismissed.  
It had been two days since Arthur caught them together, and the prince had been eerily silent on the subject. Not that Gwen would know – she had skilfully managed to avoid Arthur for the whole duration of this time. Still, the fact that both she and Morgana were still alive spoke volumes.

Gwen knew she couldn’t go upstairs to Morgana yet. Merlin was with her again, visiting in the night like he had been for some months now. Although Gwen no longer feared the two of them having a relationship, it still stung that she wasn’t allowed to attend their rendezvous.

Gwen tried to steer her thoughts away from jealousy, yet with nothing to divert her attention, they irrevocably ended on the other subject she wished to avoid. Although she hadn’t actually seen the prince since their awkward encounter, and despite Morgana’s reassurance that she had cleared the whole thing up to her brother, the whole situation still bothered Gwen. She knew it was hardly likely the feeling was mutual, especially after their last meeting, but she had come to think of Arthur as friend. The memory of his face when he caught Gwen with his foster sister was still engraved into her mind. She hated the idea that she might have made him uncomfortable, or worse still, ruined the bond between him and Morgana.

With these thoughts stirring in her head, she stood up. She didn’t know when Merlin and Morgana would finish doing whatever they were doing, but she figured she’d have plenty of time to apologise to a prince.

Trembling but determined, she knocked on Arthur’s door.

“Come in,” it sounded.

Tentatively, Gwen opened the door. She saw Arthur’s confusion at the sight of her face.

“Gwen!” Arthur said, surprisingly jovial. “I was not expecting you here.”

Gwen swallowed, fiddling with a piece of string from her dress. For lack of better ideas, she curtsied. With her face towards the floor, she said:

“I came to apologise, Sire.”

She dared to look up. Arthur looked back with an arched eyebrow that would make Gaius proud.

“I don’t see how you have anything to apologise for, Gwen.”

Frowning, Gwen straightened her back. Arthur was acting peculiar to say the least. She studied him as he picked up a couple of scrolls from his desk, shuffled them around and put them back again without even looking at the contents. Gwen sighed. If the prince had gotten enchanted again, she was going to cry. The last thing she needed was the one person who knew about her and Morgana to have lost his mind.

She scraped her throat, and Arthur swivelled around like he had completely forgotten there was still someone in his room.

“I wanted to talk about… the _incident_?” she tried. “With me and Morgana?”

Gwen knew Arthur long enough to predict quite adequately how he would react on certain situations. A servant having an affair with his sister was unprecedented, Gwen hoped, but judging by how prudish the prince was in general, she either expected a nervous babble or a sullen frown. Either way, Arthur’s head would be flaming red.

Instead, Arthur didn’t even seem to register what Gwen said. Distractedly, he waved her away.

“That’s all water under the bridge, Guinevere. No need to make a fuss.”

Gwen noticed reluctantly that he was coming closer, with the very clear intent of ushering her out of the room.

“Are you certain everything is alright?” she asked, right before he opened the door for her.

“Quite splendid, thank you,” Arthur answered, with the fakest voice Gwen had ever heard. “You don’t happen to know where Merlin is hanging about, do you?”

“He’s with Morgana,” Gwen said, far too confused to even try and understand what was going on with the prince.

Her words finally evoked a reasonable response, though. Arthur crinkled his nose in puzzlement.

“Whatever could Merlin be doing with Morgana at this hour?” he asked.

If anyone else had uttered the same words, Gwen would have assumed the question rhetorical. Servants only visited nobles in the night for one purpose, even though Gwen was trying her very best to convince herself this situation was different. Morgana would not cheat on her, and Merlin was far too besotted with the prince to settle for his sister.

However, Arthur did not mean this as a rhetorical question. On the one hand, that was a relief, because if Arthur didn’t think Merlin and Morgana were sleeping together, than Gwen certainly shouldn’t either. Then again, Arthur was quite naïve about such matters, no matter how much he liked to proclaim otherwise. It was a miracle he hadn’t just assumed Gwen was giving Morgana an extensive massage when he’d found them all wrapped up in each other. Though that would explain a lot about his uninterested, unembarrassed behaviour towards her.

The problem was that Arthur was waiting for an actual explanation, and Gwen had none to give.

She opened her mouth, hoping that whatever would come out would be plausible and not too illegal.

Just then, she heard someone call her name, and closed her mouth with relief. She watched Merlin barrel down the corridor towards them. He looked happier than he had when she let him in Morgana’s rooms. There was a certain energy streaming off him, despite the late hour, and his eyes twinkled mischievously. Gwen pursed her lips, trying her very best to drive the jealousy away. There were plenty of things that could make someone this happy. Drinking some ale with an old friend, for example.

When Merlin stopped next to them, Gwen subtly sniffed. No smell of ale, but none of Morgana of sex either. Of course not. She was a fool to mistrust her friends.

“Morgana asked for you,” Merlin beamed at her, pointing his thumb at the way from which he had just come. Gwen felt ashamed how those words quickened her heartbeat. She gave Merlin a smile and curtsied to Arthur, whose head was now finally the shade of red that suggested he did now the difference between a massage and a make-out session, and left before anyone could stop her from running to her mistress.

***

Merlin hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Practicing magic with Morgana always lifted his mood, if only because it was incredibly relieving to have a confidante, but this week it felt better than ever. Merlin had thought that now that Arthur knew about his magic, he wouldn’t have to hide as much anymore. However, the opposite was true. Arthur still hadn’t given him a chance to explain, so Merlin assumed that trying to bring up the subject would be a bad idea. Joking around wasn’t highly appreciated either, and the warlock could really forget it if he thought Arthur would allow any conversation to go deeper than it would with George. On top of that, Arthur now kept a closer eye on him than ever. Where in the past, he might have used magic to complete his endless list of chores, that was now out of the question. Merlin hated to make the prince any more uncomfortable than he clearly already felt around his servant, but his hatred for these meaningless tasks might soon take the upper hand. How could Arthur just sit there and watch Merlin slave away when he knew his servant had the power to do it all in the blink of an eye, and many more besides?

  
Morgana would listen to these complaints with a faint smile on her face. She always looked that way when Merlin spoke about Arthur. Probably because she enjoyed having another person understand how much of an idiot her brother was, Merlin figured. Either way, it had felt good to let it all out, his frustrations, his fear, his magic. Morgana was starting to get better, too, which pleased him immensely. Her magic was different from Merlin’s, less instinctive yet somehow less controlled, but apart from the giant blue fireball she had summoned by mistake, the results of this session were very reassuring. Morgana’s nightmares had started to fade, and she had managed to transform a necklace into a water jug and back again. All in all, the best evening he had in a long time. He dared say that not even Arthur could ruin it.

The prince seemed to think otherwise. As soon as Gwen had left, he pushed Merlin into his room and shut the door behind him with an agitated slam.  
“Why were you with Morgana?” he demanded.

See? This was why the whole situation with Arthur was so confusing. The prince knew about Merlin’s magic, and so it would be safe to tell him that he had been practicing with Morgana. Except that Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur knew about Morgana’s magic as well. Even if Arthur was willing to let their magic slip, Merlin would never betray his friend without her explicit consent. Besides, maybe one sorcerer was the absolute maximum of what Arthur could tolerate – if Arthur did in fact tolerate him, which was another question entirely.

“What was Gwen doing here?” Merlin asked, hoping to distract Arthur’s attention until he could come up with a good excuse.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Arthur grumbled.

“We were just… discussing certain things?” Merlin tried.

“What things?” It could be Merlin’s imagination, but the prince actually looked distressed.

Merlin shrugged. “You know. Current affairs. The conditions of all the situations. The events that are happening as we speak.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. “Has anyone ever told you what a terrible liar you are?”

Merlin nodded. “Certainly. That is why I prefer the lie of omission.”

Merlin almost enjoyed the effect his words had. There was something satisfying about being able to turn the tables every once in a while. Seeing Arthur squirm like this, more than a week after telling Merlin that nothing between them would change was probably as close as Merlin would ever get to his rightful revenge. After all, the prince was the liar here, making Merlin feel unwelcome whenever they were in the same room together. Oh, he thought he was subtle, following Merlin with his eyes whenever the other man looked away. But no amount of vigilance could prevent Merlin from speaking his mind, and it felt good to see Arthur realise that, too.

Well, Merlin told himself it felt good. The rest of him still hated that he made the prince uncomfortable.  
Finally, Arthur scraped his throat. His face was red, and he scratched his neck, which was a clear sign that he’d rather be anywhere else.

“About that…” Arthur started, addressing himself to the curtains behind Merlin. The servant even shot a look over his shoulder to see if there was anyone else in the room, which of course there wasn’t.

Arthur just couldn’t look him in the eye.

Merlin could feel the anger, the hurt, flare up again, but before he could make a remark that would surely have sent Arthur back to his sickbed and Merlin to the gallows, the prince spoke.

“I want to apologise to you.”

“You _what_?”

Arthur turned away from him and started pacing the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“About the whole thing in the woods. I did not handle it as well as I should have.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Why did this guy have to make it so hard to stay mad at him? It simply wasn’t fair that he could say something as simple and meaningless as this and still make Merlin’s anger melt like snow under the sun.

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, because he really couldn’t stand to see Arthur beat himself up like this. “I know you’re trying.”

“No! No, it’s not fine!” Arthur fumed, his voice suddenly so loud that Merlin instinctively took a step back.

“I rejected you and made you feel ashamed of who you are in a most despiteful way. I betrayed my own morals and gave you a treatment unworthy of any human, let alone my own servant and friend. Nothing about that is fine, Merlin!”

Merlin didn’t have time to relish the words half as much as he wanted to. Part of him had already resigned to a life of distance and misunderstanding, and never had he considered the possibility of Arthur apologising to him. He wanted to jump with joy with how wrong he had been, but Merlin felt it would hardly be appropriate for the situation. He would have plenty of time for that later. But right now, Arthur was wiping his hands over his face, and the sight of his distress was almost enough to make Merlin’s heart break.  
Hastening towards him, Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Calm down, clodpole,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “You just needed some time to process. I had been lying to you for years, after all. Don’t beat yourself up for keeping me on edge for a week.”

Merlin’s words did not work. In fact, they might have had the opposite result. Instead of calming down to a point where Merlin could safely tease him again, Arthur grew even more agitated. He shook his head wildly and pushed Merlin away, stalking to the other side of the room.  
There, he remained for a few moments, gathering his strengths.

“I’m sorry for all this drama,” he offered, as if that was any explanation for his truly remarkable behaviour.

“Are you certain you aren’t still ill? I’ve never heard you apologise this often in one month, let alone a few minutes. It’s starting to scare me, if I’m honest.” Merlin was glad to see the faintest shimmer of a smile on the prince’s face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but it was a start.

The prince breathed in slowly. Judging from the white knuckles on his clenched fist, Merlin guessed he was struggling with something. Then, his face cleared up, as if he had found a solution to whatever was troubling him so much.

“How close are you with Morgana?” he asked, taking Merlin completely by surprise. This was not where he had expected this conversation to go, and part of him felt a little let down.

“I know her reasonably well,” he answered vaguely, uncertain of the direction their conversation had taken.

Arthur nodded. “Do you dare say she trusts you with her secrets?”

“Some of them, yes.” Merlin tried his very best to keep his face blank. Did Arthur know about Morgana’s magic too? If not, it would be incredibly stupid for Merlin to give anything away.  
He could hear Arthur swallow. The prince’s nerves were starting to affect Merlin too, making him jittery and anxious. Why couldn’t Arthur just say what he wanted to say? Merlin was sure he could handle it.

“So you know about her… _affinities_?” Arthur finally brought out.

“Of course I do,” Merlin let out, relieved that the whole mess was finally cleared up. “I just didn’t know that you knew as well.”

Arthur crinkled his nose. “To be fair, I only recently found out, and it was entirely involuntarily.”

Merlin was really going to have to make sure Morgana stopped throwing around balls of fire.

“The thing is,” Arthur continued, “I had a clarifying talk with her about it.”

So Morgana was allowed to explain things, but Merlin wasn’t? Merlin was about to throw in a word of protest, but Arthur spoke on. He clearly had to get something off his chest, and now that he was talking about it, he was not going to stop.

“Talking with Morgana made me realise something. I- I have been-”

“A giant dollophead?” Merlin suggested helpfully.

Arthur huffed. “Please, Merlin, don’t make this harder than it already is.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“I condemned you for lying to me, but I haven’t been honest with you either.”

“Of course you haven’t, you’re a prince! It’s your job to keep secrets.”

Arthur shook his head tiredly. Merlin noticed that, despite his prominent blush, the prince was still very pale.

“It’s got nothing to do with that, Merlin,” Arthur muttered. “My father doesn’t know any more about it than you do.”

A tentative shiver rolled down Merlin’s spine.

“Why not?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “If my father ever found out, he’d have me burned at the stake. As you can imagine, I would like to prevent that.”

Surely there was another explanation for this. Maybe Arthur had taken up arson as a pastime. It definitely didn’t mean the prince had magic.

“I don’t think I understand you, Sire,” Merlin said, trying to keep his voice innocent. “What does that have to do with me?”

***

Arthur was going to kill him. He was going to tear that mouthy good-for-nothing servant of his apart limb by limb and then set the remains on fire in the middle of a lake, so that his ashes would drown.

“How thick are you?” he thundered. He could see Merlin flinch at his volume, but there was still no sign of recognition. Why did Merlin have to make it so hard on him? Couldn’t he just help him? Couldn’t he just _understand_?

“I’m like you, Merlin!” Arthur said exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’m like you, and like Morgana, and like the thousands of other people my father hates so much! I’m unnatural, and a disgrace, and- and-“

Arthur didn’t know how Merlin had gotten to him so quickly, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Merlin was with him, enveloping him in a tight hug, stroking his back.

“Hush now,” Merlin whispered, and Arthur obeyed. He let himself drown in Merlin’s hold until it felt like the world wasn’t spinning anymore.

Arthur was aware that Merlin was talking to him, softly spoken words of reassurance, but he didn’t listen. It was enough to just be, for a moment, living through the waves of emotions until his soul was calm.

“Since when do you know?” Merlin asked him. Arthur noticed that he had buried his face in the crook of the other boy’s neck, and had stained his tunic with tears. Embarrassed, he wiped his cheeks with a thumb, and tried to tear himself away from his servant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice still blubbery. “I shouldn’t be crying on your shoulder like a little girl.”

Merlin didn’t even answer. He just fortified his hold on Arthur, pushing the prince closer to his chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying sometimes, Arthur,” he said, and Arthur thought his heart might melt from gratitude.

“I don’t know when I first found out,” Arthur admitted to Merlin’s dark hair. “I think I might have known for a long time, but I hid it away.”

Merlin was tracing patterns on his back, and Arthur leaned into the touch.

“I lied to myself for so long that I had almost forgotten it was a part of me,” the prince went on. “That is, until I talked about it with Morgana. So in a way, I only found out last night.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “Is that why you were ill?”

Arthur shrugged. “I thought you were the physician?” he replied, and was glad to hear Merlin laugh. His servant stepped away, and the cold air rushed to where he had been pressed to Arthur’s body. Arthur tried to tell himself he didn’t miss the warmth.

“So?” Merlin asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What does that mean for us?”

And just like that, the calm was gone again, and Arthur was left wanting to slap himself for being so stupid. Of course Merlin would ask that. Arthur had just told him he liked men and spent the next minutes crying in his arms. Of course Merlin would think that meant something.

Arthur pondered the best way to tell Merlin that he had gotten his hopes up for nothing. Even if Arthur was attracted to men, he did not feel that way towards his manservant, and he would have to make that very clear.

Just as Arthur opened his mouth to say something, Merlin cocked his head in expectation.

“Aren’t you going to show me?”

Arthur made a very unprincely sound that sounded somewhat like he was choking on a small bird.

“That is not going to happen,” the prince vouched.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Merlin wanted him to show. His attraction to men? The only ways in which that could be showed were enough to make Arthur want to hide under his bed until his idiot of a manservant had left.

Said idiot manservant, however, did not catch the giant waves of mortification that were rolling off the prince. Merlin only furrowed his brow in confusion.

“But why else did you tell me? I thought you wanted someone to practice with.”

“P-Practice?” Arthur stammered. His mind was instantly flooded with images – kissing Merlin, holding him close, bodies entangled, clothes discarded- no! No thoughts in that direction, no thoughts at all.

“Yes, of course,” Merlin went on. Arthur was increasingly less inclined to believe the boy oblivious, and much rather a torturer of the most terrible kind.

“I’m really quite good, if I might say so,” his servant continued, even though Arthur thought he definitely wasn’t allowed to say anything like that. “The druids even say I’m the best to walk the earth. And the druids would know, wouldn’t they?”

What the hell? How did the druids know? Arthur was reminded of all those times Merlin had sneaked away at the most untimely moments to offer ‘medical help’ to the druids. Had his servant truly been so awfully lascivious that he had bedded the druids? And they actually thought Merlin, clumsy, silly Merlin, was good at it? The best to walk the earth? Surely that was just a boast, it was an absolutely preposterous idea that Merlin, of all people…

“I have no idea what the druids do and do not know, and I have no intention of finding out. There will be no practicing involved, you hear me?” Arthur managed through clenched teeth.

Merlin looked a little put off at his words, but regained his enthusiasm in a few seconds time.

“Are you certain? I’m positive I could teach you a trick or two…”

“I’m already quite experienced, thank you very much!” Arthur piped up. He had plenty of experience with kissing, even though it had only happened once or twice, and definitely hadn’t gone past awkwardly twisting tongues around. And that had been with a girl, of course. But the prince was a fast learner, and did not have any use for an insolent manservant trying to teach him tricks, whatever he might mean with that, which was also not something Arthur was now thinking about.

Merlin raised his eyebrows with feigned innocence.

“I thought you only just found out about your… _affinities_ last night?”

“Shut up, Merlin!” Arthur cried out. He ran his hands down his face, dismal to find it wet with sweat.

“I only told you this so you could stop looking at me like you were scared. And because we are friends._ Friends_,” he repeated for extra measure. “Please stop asking me to do these things with you.”

“Alright, fine,” Merlin conceded dramatically, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Too soon, it turned out.

“Can I at least do it in front of you?” his servant asked. “It’s really tiresome, pretending to be an idiot all the time.”

Arthur bit back a scream, and threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Do you even hear yourself? This is a professional relationship, Merlin! I’m the prince! You can’t do those things in front of the prince!”

“I’ve done it plenty of times before and you never even noticed!”

How? _HOW_? Had his manservant been dallying around with men right in front of his nose, and how had he managed to do that unnoticed? What had he been doing with these men? Who were they? Why would he ever do something like that to Arthur?

“Please stop talking, Merlin. I don’t want to have these images in my head.” If Merlin didn’t stop talking soon, Arthur was going to cry from frustration.

Merlin huffed. “I know you’re the son of Uther Pendragon so I can imagine you have a lot to work through, but you can stop pretending that it’s something dirty, alright? It’s part of who we are, and there is nothing wrong with that.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Great, now he had managed to offend the twat. He tried to even his breath. It was time to give up any attempt at understanding what was happening. It didn’t matter anyways. All that mattered was that Merlin stopped talking, stopped putting these images in his head, and realised for once and for all that they were never going to practice anything together, no matter how highly some pervert hermits or castle residents thought of Merlin’s skills, no matter how dirty or clean it was.

“What I just told you doesn’t change anything, alright?” Arthur explained, who hadn’t felt this emotionally drained since- since ever, really. “The only reason I told you was so we could go back to how we were.”

When he dared to look at Merlin again, the boy was beaming, his smile writ with amusement as he placed his hand on his heart in an exaggerated motion of feeling touched.

“Aww, I missed you too, you royal prat.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, though his heart did a strange thing at the sound of those words. “If you think that I won’t throw you into the dungeons just because you know some very easily deniable secret about me, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say. I’m just glad to have you back. We have so much to talk about, I want to know everything-“

For once, fortune smiled kindly upon the crown prince of Camelot, because before Merlin could finish his undoubtedly dubious sentence, the room to Arthur’s room burst open, and half a dozen guards spilled in. Some just stood bent over, trying to catch their breath, but one of them stepped forward, disaster written on his face.

“Sire,” the man said, “Lord Vargan has gone missing.”

Arthur let out the breath he had been holding. For a moment, he had thought something terrible had happened, but it was only a pompous minister who had gotten himself in trouble.

“Do you have any idea why he might be absent? There is probably a very plausible explanation.”

“Indeed there is,” the guard confirmed. His face did not betray any sign of the idea reassuring him. In fact, he looked more serious than ever.

“A horse has been stolen, and the night patrol saw him ride away in the direction of the woods. We have reason to believe Lord Vargan is the spy.”

**

In a large underground base, on a couple of days distance from Camelot, Silas rubbed his hands. Everything was going according to plan. Soon, his victim would be in his clutches, with no way to escape. And then it was only a matter of time before Camelot would fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAH, there it is! I really hoped you liked this chapter, since it's the whole reason I started writing this story :P It was also supposed to be the first chapter, so that should tell you everything you need to know about how long this fic will be...
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I love reading your comments!!! Kudos and bookmarks are obviously also much appreciated. A thousand times thanks to everyone who has been motivating me so far, I love you guys so much <3


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all so much for your enthusiastic responses to the last chapter! It was amazing to write, and even better to see your reactions to it :)
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a mess, since my computer broke down and I had to rewrite half of it on my phone at three am T.T It might also take a little while before I update again, because I hate writing on mobile and I don't know when my computer will be fixed again. I hope this can suffice in the meantime.
> 
> Oh yeah, important trigger warnings: this chapter contains mentions of abuse, torture and scars. Please stay safe x

The King stood silent at the castle gates, ignoring the bustle around him. A trail of hoofprints gleamed mockingly in the moonlight before descending into the darkness of the forest.  
Turning on his heel, Uther walked back towards the castle, followed by his confused knights and guards. Arthur came up at his shoulder, incomprehension audible in his voice.

“The trail is still fresh, father. Shouldn’t we be pursuing him before he can reach his goal?”

“It is three in the morning, Arthur,” Uther replied staunchly. “To chase him in the woods would be madness, especially since you have been targeted before.”

“With all due respect, Sire, I can take care of myself.” His son was so easily hurt, it would have been laughable, if only he weren’t in line to inherit the throne. Being king required one to keep calm, to make one’s skin an impenetrable fortress that made it impossible to get hurt by some little words.   
A king couldn’t afford to be offended. All he could do was retaliate.

And Uther would retaliate. Before the next night had set, Lord Vargan would be in their clutches. Then he would learn why betrayal was discouraged.  
He carefully went over the topics discussed during their last council. While it was all highly confidential information, there was nothing that could explain for the spy to flee tonight rather than tomorrow, or next week. 

Perhaps Lord Vargan’s conscience had started to weigh heavy on him, although Uther doubted that. He had chosen his ministers on basis of influence and craftiness, not for their big hearts. The King could see how spying could be lucrative for Vargan, especially since the weapon trade had had to suffer from the peace and quiet in Camelot.   
Still, it did not sit right with the King. He had always thought himself an excellent judge of character, and he never had expected this. After all, Vargan had been one of the select few allowed to attend his councils. If even his most trusted advisors were capable of betraying him, it was not impossible that there existed more than one spy within the walls of Camelot. That guard with the piercing blue eyes, that cook who could poison his meals. That meddling serving boy that was once again milling around by his son’s side. 

“You can start the chase tomorrow,” he addressed Arthur, keeping an eye on the servant to see if he betrayed anything. The man didn’t seem to have heard him, instead looking distractedly at some weeds growing by the gate, like the useless fool he was.

The king returned his attention to his son, who let out an impatient sigh at the notion of having to wait till morning. Uther would excuse it for now, since it was late and the boy had been ill, but such imprudence would certainly be scorned the next time.

“Take three of your best knights with you, and the guards who saw Vargan last. Even if they are no use in locating him, they will keep you safe.”

He knew his son wanted to whine again about being protected, but Uther’s decision was final. There was something amiss in this situation, and it was best not to run any risks. 

***

Gaius never liked to see Merlin leave. He knew it was imperative that the greatest warlock to roam the earth embarked on a dangerous quest every now and then, but it still worried him to see the boy go. After spending so many years together, Merlin had started to feel more like a son than a nephew to him, and the thought of something happening to the boy would distract Gaius from his work until he had safely returned home again. 

Merlin, too, seemed to be nervous about leaving this time. He swirled through their rooms like a whirlwind, adding and removing things from his bag, reminding Gaius of all the things he shouldn’t forget to do. 

“I am trying to catch a crow for Morgana,” Merlin said, pointing to a windowsill covered in bird excrements, where three ravens were perched. “It’s been going very well, but you have to keep feeding Brutus while I’m gone so he doesn’t leave us.”

“Which one is Brutus?” Gaius asked, eyeing the three identical birds. If it were up to him, Morgana would have to wait a long time for one of those monsters.   
Merlin shrugged, and laid out some crumbs on the floor. The crows didn’t flinch as he came near them, and attacked the food before he had well enough taken away his hands.

“I don’t actually know which one is Brutus,” the boy admitted, “they all look alike.” Then, on a more cheerful tone: “But if you feed them all, I’m certain one will linger around long enough for me to catch him.”

At that, Merlin turned away from the birds and started repacking his bag again. After adding and removing the same apple for the third time, Gaius interjected.

“What is the matter, Merlin?” he asked. It was late, and his pupil still hadn’t taken to bed, despite having to rise before sunrise the next day.

“There’s nothing,” Merlin answered, not even bothering to sound convincing. 

Gaius arched his eyebrow.

“Surely something must be bothering you. I have never seen you prepare for a journey with such care.”

Merlin threw away his bag in a dramatic motion, making Gaius’ eyebrow reach even higher. Merlin winced as he saw his guardian’s expression.

“It’s just-“ he started, then threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“Arthur?” Gaius suggested. The prince was the favourite subject of all Merlin’s conversations, and his name was often uttered with the same frustration now displayed on the boy’s face. Even so, anyone could detect the fondness that ran through the complaints, and true anger was never present. One day, Gaius would have to confront Merlin about his true feelings for the prince. It was infuriating to watch his apprentice sigh away his days like a pining damsel, yet now was hardly the time to discuss that. Secretly, Gaius hoped he would never have to. Surely a mighty sorcerer and a future king could work such a simple matter out themselves.

Yet Merlin seemed to try very hard to make things harder for himself. 

“I don’t understand it,” he was muttering now, pacing through the room.

“If Arthur won’t allow me to perform magic, then how will I be able to help him?” he asked, suddenly.

Gaius pondered the question. Out of all the possible things to worry about, this weighed most heavily on Merlin’s mind? Gaius had always known that the war against sorcery was unjust and wrong, but even he had been certain that too much power would corrupt a person. Merlin, however, proved him wrong every single time. It astounded the old man that in his whole lifetime, he had never met anyone more powerful or more selfless. This young man, this boy, could do unimaginable things with nothing but a few words. He could raise the dead and command a dragon, wipe out whole countries if he so wished. And all he wanted was for his friends to be safe. For Arthur not to feel uncomfortable. For Morgana to have a pet. It warmed Gaius’ heart, swelled it with a pride he couldn’t even hope to bring to words, but which he hoped shone through his actions. And yet, it frightened him too. 

Merlin himself was almost undefeatable, but his friends were not. And if anything were to happen to Gaius, or Gwen, or even Merlin’s favourite horse, it would hurt him beyond measure, making him vulnerable to whoever wished him harm.

Gaius therefore made sure to stress his answer.

“I know you don’t want to hurt Arthur’s feelings,” he started carefully, and noticed how intensely Merlin nodded. “But if the choice comes between making him uncomfortable or saving someone’s life, it should not be a hard choice to make.”

“You are right,” Merlin said, though his voice was soft. “Can I ask you one last question?”

“Always.”

Merlin seemed lost in thought for a moment, then bravely opened up.

“Do you think Arthur would still need me if he had magic of his own?”

The question surprised Gaius so much that for a moment, all he could do was gape. “Are you sure he has magic?” he finally ventured.

Merlin nodded sagely, looking as lost as a small child. “He told me tonight.”

Gaius knew Merlin, knew the ways his face contorted as he tried to keep in the inevitable tears. Soothingly, he wrapped the boy into his arms as he cried. Gaius stroked the dark hair, and once again his heart ached in tune with his pupil’s pain.

“I thought we were foretold,” Merlin whimpered into Gaius’ shoulder. “I thought we were two halves of a whole.”

“You are, you are,” Gaius hushed him, but Merlin tore away.

“How can I complement him if he has magic himself?” 

Merlin motioned at himself. “Look at me," he said, "I have nothing else to offer. I cannot fight for him in any other way than this. But if he can do that himself, then what does he need me for? To teach him, and then leave again? To show him he shouldn’t be afraid? I cannot show him that, Gaius!” Merlin shouted. “I’m can’t show him to be brave when I’m so terribly afraid myself! All I ever knew was that I could do magic, and that I was destined to do it for him. That is all I have ever known for certain. And now even that isn’t true anymore.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, and the seriousness in his voice made the boy stop his rambling, turning his tear-stricken face to the older man.

“Whether Arthur has magic or not, he will always need you. You are not just any sorcerer, Merlin. You are a warlock, you are Emrys. If you have any faith in Arthur becoming the Once and Future King, you have to believe that he cannot do that without you, too.”

His apprentice seemed reluctant to believe him, and Gaius sighed. He had been taken aback by Merlin’s words, but now he thought of it, it didn’t change a thing.

“If Arthur has magic, it is not strong,” he explained patiently. “I have known him for all my life, and he never once showed a sign of having magical abilities.” 

“You shouldn’t underestimate his ability to crop things up,” Merlin replied dryly.

Gaius wanted to laugh. Arthur might be good in obscuring the source of his emotions, but Gaius had learned to read him like an open book over the years. As someone less open than Merlin, he had often sympathised with the young prince’s desire to remain unknown, and had been able to deduce many things by simply comparing Arthur’s behaviour to his own. And although this had taught him many things about the crown prince, it had not once made Gaius suspect him to be capable of sorcery.

“Perhaps Arthur only thinks he has magic,” Gaius tried. “Saw something he couldn’t explain, something you did, and thought he did it himself.”

The words painted a smile on Merlin’s face. “He is definitely arrogant enough to think that, yes.”

Gaius laughed. “Indeed. Either way, he will still have to rely on you for truly powerful magic. If anything, he needs you now more than ever.”

Thoughtfully, Merlin nodded.

“Now will you finally go to sleep?” Gaius asked. He desperately wanted to retire to his bed himself.

“I will,” Merlin said.

Although they were hardly anything alike, it was not hard for Gaius to read Merlin’s emotions. And so he knew the boy would be far too busy fretting to sleep a wink that night.  
Sighing, Gaius blew out the candles. 

Whatever happened, he would have to trust Merlin would be strong enough to face whatever wanted so badly for Arthur to go on this quest. Strong enough to conquer his own fears. As always, Gaius didn't doubt Merlin could do it. As always, he only feared what it would cost.

***

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed since Arthur had closed his eyes, when he felt someone pat his face.

“Arthur, wake up,” it sounded, although the voice seemed to come from far away. Wrapped deeply into the folds of sleep, the prince dismissed the sensations as part of his of dreams. He dozed off again, when the feeling of two hands pushing hard against his side startled him awake, just in time to understand he was being rolled over.   
A second later, he got squashed by a heavy, moving weight. Groggily, the prince looked around him, and found a red-faced Merlin sprawled over his bed, panting chest pressed against Arthur’s side. 

“Rise and shine?” his servant tried.

“What the hell, Merlin?” Arthur grumbled, turning back on his back and pushing the other man off of him. 

Merlin stood up with a huff.

“Remind me to cut your desserts from now on,” he teased, straightening his clothes. “At least you won’t have to worry about getting kidnapped. It would take a whole army to lift you up, let alone carry you somewhere.”

“What are you blabbering about?” Arthur asked, rubbing his eyes. “Why were you in my bed?”

Was his servant truly so impudent that he tried to force himself on his prince even after being rejected? Although, frankly, it did not seem like Merlin was aiming to do anything indecent – it rather looked like he had just fallen over and conveniently landed on Arthur’s bed, and, to some extent, on Arthur himself. It was too early to think about having Merlin in his bed, let alone having it actually happen. But when asked to explain himself, his servant only shrugged.

“The sun hasn’t risen yet, so I couldn’t just open the curtains and let the light wake you in a calm and natural way.”

Arthur snorted. There was nothing calm or natural about being woken by sudden piercing rays of sunlight and a dollophead shouting “Rise and shine!” at full volume.

“And well, I had to get you up somehow,” Merlin continued, oblivious to Arthur’s objections. “So I just figured I could roll you out of bed.” He masterfully ignored Arthur’s scowl and fetched some clothes from the wardrobes. “But since you are so heavy, I had to put in my full weight, and then I slipped.” He held up a red tunic for inspection. “Think this still fits?”

Arthur stalked over and tore the garment from his servant’s hands, pulling it on over his head. 

“See?” he said, showing how well it fit. “Admit it, Merlin. I’m not fat, you’re just weak.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief, unable to suppress a smile. 

“At least I can remember simple routines. Aren’t you going to bathe first?”

Oh. Just like that, huh? 

Arthur didn’t know what he had expected. He had never considered that Merlin would stop working as his manservant simply because Arthur felt attracted to some men, but he had at least anticipated a bit of awkwardness. Surely Merlin must feel as if something had changed? Not that it had – Arthur had always had these feelings, even if he did a magnificent job at hiding them. Besides, Merlin did not have to fear that Arthur would covet him. Of course, he would know that after Arthur’s string of rejections last night. Still, it was odd that his servant didn’t even blush.

“Do we have time to bathe?”

Arthur chided himself for how he formulated that question. Merlin would not be bathing – he had already washed himself, judging by the faint floral smell that hung around him. And even if he hadn’t, there was no way they would fit in that tub together. Not that they’d ever have reason to try.

“Of course we have time,” Merlin replied, blithely unaware of Arthur’s turmoil. “We still have an hour before we have to leave.”

That explained why Arthur felt so muddled and exhausted – he could barely have gotten a few hours of sleep. Merlin had woken up before him, which meant that his servant had slept even less.  
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Arthur asked, incredulous that anyone would put themselves and the prince trough the torture of waking up early after a late and taxing night. 

Merlin smiled sheepishly, and closed his eyes for a few seconds longer than it was needed to blink. “Not really,” he admitted. “But we don’t know when you’ll get the next opportunity to wash yourself, and it would be terribly inconvenient if your strong smell informed everyone in the area about our location.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Taking off his tunic, he tossed it into his servant’s face. Grinning, Merlin removed the cloth and left to fetch the water. Not for the first time, Arthur felt guilty for making him carry those buckets up several flights of stairs, especially when Merlin was so clearly fatigued. But there was an unspoken rule between the two of them, which said that Merlin would always complain, and Arthur would never concede. So the prince undressed himself, and waited behind his screen until a mopey Merlin would return. However, his servant returned almost immediately, looking almost guilty for being back so fast.

“How did you do that so quickly?” Arthur couldn’t help himself inquiring. 

Merlin looked away. “I came prepared,” he said. 

The water had indeed cooled down considerably, but Arthur decided not to comment on it. He merely sat still as Merlin slathered a layer of soap on his skin. The prince tried to doze off, to catch a few precious moments of slumber before he would be forced to lead the expedition to Lord Vargan. But despite his weariness, he couldn’t slip away. His skin tingled from the brush of Merlin’s fingers. Was it possible that Merlin didn’t feel that too, that current that seemed to run between them every time they touched?   
Arthur turned to look at the other man, but Merlin’s eyes were fixed on Arthur’s back. 

“You’ve had this one for a long time,” he said, and Arthur felt a shiver run through his spine as Merlin’s cold fingers traced an old scar.

It was not like this had never happened before. When Merlin had first become his manservant, he would often ask where his scars came from. Over the years, Arthur’s scars might have multiplied, but Merlin didn’t ask anymore. He knew where they came from, had been there himself to bandage the wounds. Yet the one his fingers now stroked had been there for much longer. It had almost faded with time, Arthur knew. Merlin had never inquired about it before, though the prince knew he must have wanted to. The flesh still held the curved form the would had once painted, impossible to misinterpret but even harder to explain.

Arthur considered lying, but both the shape and spot of the mark made a sword wound implausible, and Arthur was too tired to wrack his brain for another excuse.

“I got it when I was sixteen,” he spoke the words softly, but he knew Merlin was listening. “It’s only a whiplash, but it got infected and turned into a scar.”

The room was so silent. Slowly, the water around him formed circles around   
the droplets falling into it, embracing them into their whole. They breathed together, both uneven.

“Why were you whipped?” Merlin asked, a hoarseness in his throat.

Arthur smiled grimly. He didn't often think about those days. He had been stubborn, certain nothing could break him. He had been so wrong.

“It was part of my training to learn to withstand different kinds of torture,” he said, wincing at how terrible those words must sound to an outsider, to anyone who doesn’t have a kingdom’s secrets to protect.

“So my father had me whipped and then locked into the dungeons for three days.”

It was almost funny, how all the things he had pushed away seemed to be resurfacing these days. Arthur swallowed. He didn’t often talk about those three days in the dark, mouldy dungeon. There had been no one else there, and only a pitcher of water to sustain him. It had been his own fault, boasting that he was mature, that he could handle bearing the responsibilities of a prince. He had long ago taken responsibility of this pain, and stored it away. Still, he could feel the tears gather in his eyes.

Angrily, Arthur splashed his face with water. It had been years. It hadn’t been that bad. He should be over it by now.  
This was why he didn’t talk. When he spoke of his feelings, they all got out at once, disrupting the neat little chambers he had made for his thoughts and leaving him a blubbering mess. Gods, what a mess he was these days.

Arthur could feel a stream of water splatter down his back as Merlin clenched his fist around the sponge. For a moment, he could have sworn the very air hummed with the force of anger and pain.   
Merlin’s voice was unnaturally controlled as he washed Arthur’s arms.

“You were only a child.”

Arthur let out a strangled laugh. Of course Merlin would say that. Simple, fortunate Merlin, who had spent his childhood in a little village, never knowing duty until he’d come to Camelot. He caught his servant’s eyes, and was surprised to see the water filling them. His cheekbones stood out even more prominently against his pale skin, and his jaw was set.  
Arthur couldn’t look at him. The pain on Merlin’s face was not a mirror of his own. It was only a glimpse of who he might have been, if he had been born to another father.

“I was never only a child, Merlin,” he explained softly. “I’ve always been a prince first.”

Merlin nodded, and maybe, Arthur thought, maybe he actually understood. Or maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter much. 

Merlin was there, and somehow, that was enough.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore the blatant disrespect of any canon timeline. I'm pretty sure Elyan doesn't get knighted until after Uther's death but I love him so I took some creative liberties, whoops. Hope you guys like this chapter :)

They rode out when the first rays of sunlight bathed the courtyard in rays as red as blood. With seven riders, they formed a bigger convoy than usual, but Uther had made himself clear. Arthur was to be protected at all cost, even if that sacrificed any chances of traversing the woods unnoticed. The prince thought it was all terribly overblown – he was more than able to defend himself, and didn’t need five grown men to look out for him.

That being said, he didn’t mind the company. Arthur had chosen Gwaine, Percival and Elyan as his knightly companions, and the guards sent to join them seemed decent fellows too, if Arthur could manage to look at them. Out of all the guards in the castle, the ones that had been chosen to accompany them were Ian and Peter. Literally the only two men Arthur had bothered to imagine as Merlin’s possible lovers would be following him on this quest, no doubt to distract him with adorable freckles or powerful arms. Although there was no way for them to know the prince had once pondered on these physical marks, it made Arthur too ashamed to consider talking to them just yet. If he wanted to know where to go, however, he would have to set aside his scruples and consult them.

“You two! Guards!” he barked as they rode out of the city. “Where did he go?”

The men drove up to him, and Arthur tried his best to hide the queasiness spreading under his skin. Ian truly was a classic beauty with his fine features and red hair. Peter did have that brutish appeal only true fighters have. _I have done it plenty of times before and you never even noticed_.

No.

There was no proof that Merlin even knew either of these men. Simply because they were handsome and hung around the castle grounds a lot did not mean his manservant had any kind of relationship with either of the two. He probably didn’t even know their names.

Only then did Arthur notice that Ian was speaking, probably answering the question he had just posed.

“What did you say?” Arthur asked, sounding far more accusatory than necessary in the situation. He could see the redheaded man shrink back. The prince didn’t bother to apologise.  
“I was explaining that I couldn’t see much, since our patrol was on the other side of the castle when we heard the horse gallop away. However, I did catch a glimpse of a man in purple robes, headed towards the woods in the eastern direction,” Ian rattled. He glanced at Arthur expectantly, as if the prince might react rashly after learning he had no significant information to impart, which Arthur thought was awfully presumptuous and not at all justified. Before he could open his mouth to scold the cowardly guard, his colleague Peter chimed in.

“I know it sounds like little to go on, but I think it is wise of His Highness to send all of us to catch the Lord. I was on stable-duty, and Lord Vargan came across as if he was terrified out of his mind. We might be headed towards unimaginable dangers.”

The man puffed out his abnormally broad chest as he said the last words, as if the thought of unimaginable dangers pleased him. Arthur, whose imagination was a lot larger, and who hadn’t spent his whole life guarding bedroom doors, thought this attitude would change soon enough. Far more important were the words that the foolish guard had let slip just before.

“You saw Lord Vargan in the stables and did nothing to stop him?”

Peter shrugged helplessly.

“He is a nobleman, sire. I figured he was lying when he said the King had sent him on an urgent quest, but it is not my place to question where the ministers want to go at night. Besides, it was hardly the first time it had happened, and he usually returns in time for breakfast.”

Arthur wondered if it was possible to have somebody executed for stupidity.

“You are telling me that one of the most trusted advisors of the King has been making nightly visits to people outside the citadel, and you never once thought to mention it to me or my father?”  
The guard paled and shook his head. “I figured he was just visiting a lady of sorts, if you pardon my directness. If the guards were to report on every nobleman leaving the castle at night, we wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. This was just marvellous. Camelot was protected by guards who were too lazy or simple to do their job, and as a result he would have to chase a middle-aged, weapon selling spy through the woods before the break of day. Without deigning to give the dim-witted, awfully flustered guards another look, Arthur urged his horse to accelerate and catch up with the knights.

Gwaine arched a teasing eyebrow at the contorted face of the approaching prince.

“I see you have spoken to our new friends?”

Arthur let out a huff. “It is far too early to be dealing with this kind of idiocy.”

Gwaine cocked his head. “You didn’t like them? I thought you might appreciate someone with the same intellectual level as yourself.”

What was this? Gwaine had always been impudent, but never so much as to actually insult the crown prince. Arthur was so offended he hardly knew how to respond.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Gwaine offered, in a way that made it very clear he was in fact enjoying himself immensely. “I hate saying such awful things to your impeccable Highness, but Merlin is being uncharacteristically quiet this morning, so I am merely ascertaining that the things he would have wanted to say are being said.” Furrowing his brow dramatically, Gwaine let out a loud sigh. “He was such a bright young lad…”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but a quick glance in Merlin’s direction did evoke concern. The boy could barely keep his eyes open, and was slumped dangerously low in his saddle. They had entered the woods by now, and if Merlin didn’t pay attention, the uneven terrain would undoubtedly cause him to be thrown off his horse.

The prince told himself that he only acted for the common good. To have his servant trampled by horses would surely delay their travels, and Lord Vargan already had a prominent advantage. On top of that, Merlin had many friends, probably more than Arthur would ever want to know. He doubted they would thank him for letting his manservant break his neck, even though they should; he would have given them the invaluable pleasure of silence. And then there was the fact that it was Arthur’s fault Merlin hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. All things considered, he truly was taking the only logical course of action.

“Halt,” he demanded, and stopped his horse. His envoy came to a hesitant stop, Elyan and Percival exchanging puzzled looks. Eventually, even Merlin’s horse stopped, although Arthur suspected he had the animal to thank for that rather than its rider.

“You’re riding with me, Merlin,” Arthur demanded, pointedly ignoring Gwaine’s smirk.

“I am not allowing you to steer a mare while you are half asleep.”

Merlin was so far gone that he didn’t even protest. He just slid out of his saddle, landing on the forest floor with a inelegant thump, and started to mount Arthur’s steed instead. Despite being the one to propose the arrangement, Arthur was baffled at this response. He had expected Merlin to protest, to tease him perhaps. His servant truly must be exhausted if he didn’t even bother to complain.

Either way, he couldn’t refuse now. Arthur sat in quiet shock as Merlin settled down behind him. He could feel Merlin leaning against him, resting his head against Arthur’s back, and it was only a matter of seconds before a soft snoring rose from behind him.

He stared at the knights, and found his own bewilderment mirrored in their faces.

“Was I the only one who didn’t actually expect him to obey?” he asked, just to be sure.

It almost seemed as if Elyan shook his head, which could mean many a thing that Arthur would not ponder over.

“For the first time in your life, Princess, you have actually made a bed,” Gwaine gloated. “Would be a shame if you didn't lie in it.”

With that, the knights brought their horses into movement again, leaving Arthur to deal with his stupidity. Resigned, the prince made his horse, which didn’t once whinny about the added weight, assume a gentle trod. He could the morose voices of the guards behind him, and he didn’t want to spend another minute in their company, especially now that he had Merlin with him. The thought that his servant might have had an relation with either of those dimwits made his stomach churn.

Not that it mattered. Merlin wasn’t with either of them right now.

As they rode on, Arthur carefully steered his horse away from any unevenness in the path. The knights were a few yards before him, tracing the tracks of Lord Vargan’s horse, and the guards had the sense to stay back. Which meant that really, Arthur had nothing to do but stare at the world around him, and notice how it seemed to move in synchrony with the breathing of the boy behind him.  
One of Merlin’s arms was slung around the prince’s waist, holding onto him for balance, although the fist clenching his chain mail had lost most of its strength in sleep. Merlin’s body was slumped against Arthur’s, warming his back with a heat that his armour couldn’t obstruct. With the sun shining hotly through the canopy of leaves, Arthur might have hated anything that caused him to sweat even more. But he didn’t mind feeling Merlin’s face pressed against his shoulder. He didn’t mind that his servant’s hair tickled in his neck. He didn’t even mind that he had to ride slowly, or that Gwaine kept stealing not-so-furtive glances in their direction, or even that they hadn’t found any sign of the missing minister yet. He felt Merlin’s trust enveloping him like a blanket, and he didn’t mind at all.

It felt as if no time had passed at all when Merlin awoke again, although the sun was now low on the horizon. Arthur felt a pang of loss as his servant detached himself from the prince and rubbed his eyes.

“Arthur?” he croaked, voice still tinged with sleep. Arthur shot a look over his shoulder, and smiled at the other man. He couldn’t help but notice that the creases of his armour had left red imprints on the face of his servant. He didn’t know why his heart leapt so.

“I see you have finally deigned to honour us with your attention?” Arthur teased, and halted his horse. He saw Gwaine coming their way, holding the reigns of Merlin’s own horse. As Merlin mounted it, the knight whispered something in his ear that Arthur could not distinguish. Based on the flustered look Merlin shot him, and the way a redness crept up his ears, the prince could only assume he was being defamed once again.

He found it didn’t bother him that much. He was pleased to see Merlin looking well-rested, although he missed the boy’s warmth. But the calmness that came over him whenever Merlin was with him still lasted, and Arthur savoured its simple tranquillity.

Where before, the forest had been calm and peaceful, they burst alive once Merlin had woken up. Arthur didn’t understand why this part of the woods would have so many more flowers blooming, but he accepted it. The knights, even the guards, were more lively now that Merlin’s enthusiasm bounded between them again. Would it be so strange for nature to feel the same way, to rejoice at the sight of someone so brimming with life, with joy, with love? For once, the prince did not recoil as he thought of that word. Love seemed to be the only way to describe the rosy fullness that had settled upon the company. Watching the way his servant chattered away at the knights, Arthur realised that each of them loved the senseless fool to bits. Elyan looked upon him with a fondness that was usually reserved for Gwen alone. Percival smiled in calm affection as his friend spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms. Gwaine was the most obvious, of course. The knight had been very silent the past hours, but now he was beaming, that familiar mischievous glint back into his eyes.

Arthur was surprised how little all this bothered him. The friendship between Merlin and the knights warmed his heart. How could he blame them for taking to that clumsy servant when he could feel his own heart blossoming with affection?

The prince wondered what had happened to him. Had it been sleep deprivation that made him like this, so calm, so full of fondness? He tried to reign in his thoughts as he normally might, placing them in the places of his mind where he was forbidden to tread, but it was hard. The relief of being honest with himself was hard to give up after having learned its taste.  
Still, his calm could not last long. It was disrupted by one of the people he had carefully excluded from his reveries. Of course it was.

Merlin had pointed out a bird. It was a black raven, with intelligent eyes, and Merlin let out a squeal of delight at the sight of him. “Look!” he pointed eagerly, addressing no one in particular. “It’s Brutus!”

“Brutus?” Arthur had asked, perplexed.

Merlin had smiled in that sheepish way of his. “At home, I feed the ravens, and I gave some of them a name. I think this one is Brutus. He must have followed me from Camelot.”  
Merlin beamed at the thought, and Arthur felt his heart melting. Of course Merlin would not mind that the black birds were harbingers of doom. He would feed them along with the sparrows. Of course he would.

“How do you even know that this one is Brutus?” the prince had asked, looking at the bird, half-obscured by the leaves.

Merlin had rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine,” he admitted, shrugging a bit. “There are several ravens, and they are all called Brutus because I can’t really tell them apart.”

It had made Arthur laugh, the kind of laugh that bubbles up from deep inside and makes your eyes water with joy. Merlin had laughed with him, and how he had loved the laugh he had so missed.  
And then, it was ruined by that terrible Peter. Out of nowhere, he had come, head cocked in attention.

“Were you talking about ravens?” he had inquired excitedly, completely ignoring his prince, and choosing instead to ride up besides Merlin. “I love those animals! Truly beautiful, aren’t they?”  
And just like that, the two had started a passionate conversation about the many good qualities of ravens. And just like that, Arthur’s good mood disappeared. Fuming, he let Ian talk to him as he kept his eyes locked on the other guard’s back. How could Merlin bear talking to that dreadful man? And why did a guard of Camelot know more about corvids than he did about keeping the castle safe?

The gnawing doubt, the jealousy, returned with more force than ever before. Arthur knew, he just knew, that even if Merlin had never slept with Peter before, he surely would do so in the future. The prince had seen the way the guard’s eyes leered at his servant, lingering on him for just a moment longer than they would on anyone else. This man had no love for Merlin as his friends had – no, there was only lust to be found. And when confronted with that lust, Merlin probably wouldn’t refuse, not after Arthur had rejected him so harshly.

All Arthur could imagine now was the two of them together, fucking by the campfire as the prince and his knights slept in ignorance. He tried to push the image away, but after his afternoon of peace, the thoughts seemed to be trying to make up for lost time.

They would get together tonight, whispering facts about ravens to each other until they could no longer control themselves.

Peter would cup Merlin’s cheek, the one that had been squashed against Arthur’s armour only hours ago, and stroke the skin spanning over those sharp cheekbones.

They wouldn’t even bother undressing. Their bodies would just be there to be used.

Merlin would stroke the scar where Peter’s ear used to be. _How did you get this one?_

***

Elyan’s mind was starting to get fuzzy. He had spent the better part of the day staring at the ground, at the plants lining the path, looking for any disruptions that could indicate a horse and rider had broken through. The knight he was good at this – he was probably the best tracker in the castle, the prince only barely included. But he could not be counting on the prince for help. Arthur had spent the first half of their trip with Merlin sleeping against him, and the other half lost in thought. It made Elyan smile, the way the prince had taken to Merlin. For all they pretended to quarrel, their affection for each other was clear.

At first, this had worried Elyan, if he were frank. He had seen the way Gwen would look at Arthur sometimes. Elyan had told her to swoop in now, because if she waited any longer Arthur might be looking at a completely different servant.

Gwen had laughed at him, squarely into his face.

“You think I’m in love with _Arthur_?” she had repeated, as if the very thought was ridiculous. Then, she had shaken her head, still giggling, and patted his arm.

“It’s sweet that you warned me, Ellie,” she had said, using the nickname she had promised never to use in the castle. “But Arthur is just a friend, and so is Merlin. If anything, I hope they finally realise how in love they are! It would make my life a whole lot easier.”

Of course, she was right. Life would be a whole lot less frustrating if Arthur and Merlin just admitted they were in love. Still, something about the way she had dismissed his suggestion didn’t sit right with Elyan. She might not be in love with the prince, but surely the possibility wasn’t that hilarious?

Unless she was already in love with someone else, and couldn’t imagine ever desiring another.

And Elyan knew his sister well enough to recognise the lovelorn gazes when he saw them.

As Elyan followed the path of hoofprints and broken twigs, he felt a bout of worry settle over him. It wasn’t simply that he practically had to carry this mission alone, and that any mistake he might make could cause the death of the only heir to Camelot. No, the thing that truly weighed heavy on his heart was the fact that Gwen, his own sister, the most important person in his life, had fallen in love.

That in itself wasn’t so bad. He knew the lady Morgana well enough to see that she could make his sister happy in ways very little people could. They would complement each other perfectly; Gwen’s kind determination would keep Morgana’s fickle bursts of anger under control, and Morgana might just teach his sister to be just a little less forgiving.

There was nothing Elyan could think of that made him oppose their relationship. So why wouldn’t Gwen confide in him?

The question gnawed at his very soul. Gwen hated lying, especially to him. She hated keeping secrets, too. And yet, she had wished him goodbye before his quest without telling him this, this thing that must be on the foreground of her mind at all times. He had seen that dreamy look on Gwen’s face so many times before – he knew his sister loved shyly, yet with a passion that burned so deeply it could be terrifying. He knew, because she had told him of her crushes every single time. So why was this one any different?

Elyan was not an idiot. He knew why this was different. Homosexuality was outlawed in Camelot, although it was hardly ever reinforced. But a servant being impudent enough to harass a noble – because that was how it would be framed, if it ever came to light, Elyan knew – yes, that would warrant repercussion. And he could understand that Gwen was careful, was proud that she managed to keep her happiness still for so long, it still hurt.

Of all people, Gwen could trust Elyan. He was her brother. It was his auntie June, too, who lived on a farm with another woman. It was his unhidden opinion, too, that these laws were archaical and unjust. Had he not made it clear she could tell him anything? That he would rather die than see her hurt? Had his years away truly make her forget all the summers picking berries together, vowing loyalty to each other before any king or crown? Had she thought those vows replaced by the ones he made as knight?

Elyan swallowed. For a moment, he was glad that Gwaine and Percival were too busy bantering behind him to see his pained expression.

It was not that he regretted being a knight.

He loved being a knight. It was what he had always wanted to be.

It was just that it was different than what he expected. No matter how highly the other knights or the prince thought of him, he was still just the son of a blacksmith. If Arthur hadn’t come up with that story about his mother secretly being a noble lady, he should not have been knighted at all. And although Elyan would always be grateful to the prince for showing such faith in him, it did add pressure. No matter what the situation, Elyan always felt he had to prove himself. To Arthur, to the knights, to the king, to himself. Any mistake was inexcusable, any sign of disobedience would cost him his knighthood. So far, he had managed, he had exceeded everyone’s expectations.

But Elyan was only human. Soon enough he would slip and fall, and there was no knowing how hard he would land. Gwen knew this, of course. And that was what hurt the most. Deep down, Elyan knew Gwen was not keeping her secret because she didn’t trust him, or feared his response. His sister was not one to fear anyone’s opinion on things that really mattered. But she did know that Elyan was different. Other people’s opinions meant the world to him, quite literally.

And so Gwen, kind, careful, selfless Gwen, didn’t burden him with the choice. If she had told him, he would have supported her, thus disobeying his king. If anything was ever found out, Elyan would gladly take the fall for Gwen. And she knew. Of course she knew.

And Gwen, clever, scheming, mindful Gwen, also knew that Elyan wouldn’t disobey the king if he wasn’t given a reason to. So she didn’t give him a reason to.

Elyan let out a shaky sigh. Gwen might have thought this through, but she forgot how well Elyan knew her, which meant her scheming was all for nothing. Because Elyan would always take her side, and the fact that she wouldn’t let him hurt. If Gwen loved Morgana, it would be Elyan’s honour to defend that love, even if it meant giving everything he had. He had made a promise, sealed by the blue blood of berries, sealed by the red blood in their veins. He deeply regretted leaving her and his father for all those years, and he was not letting anything get between him and his sister again, not even Uther.

Hell, if he was going to displease the king somehow, it would be his pleasure to do so for Gwen.

Although it seemed he wouldn’t get the chance to.

The horse didn’t hear the strangled sound that escaped from Elyan’s lips. It just stood grazing on the side of the road, unbothered by the caravan of knights coming to a stop behind Elyan’s halted horse. She was dirty, her mane clotted, but she was clearly the horse that had been taken from Camelot’s stables last night. The saddle, marked with the sigil of the dragon, confirmed his suspicions, and a wave of panic rushed over Elyan. For the saddle was empty as could be, and judging from the wet leaves clinging to it, had been that way for a very long time.  
Looking around frantically, Elyan looked for traces, for any sign that might indicate that he hadn’t just failed spectacularly at the worst possible time. But the only tracks were those of a horse without owner, roaming around and nibbling at things.

Elyan shot an exasperated look at the road they had just travelled. After the passage of their group, any subtle traces of a man fleeing on foot would have been trampled long ago.  
Prince Arthur seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He rubbed his eyes, and Elyan felt his heart sink as he spoke.

“We’ve lost him.”

Elyan made a constricted noise. It was all he could seem to produce as the implications of his failure came crashing down on him. They had been chasing a loose horse for hours. By now, Lord Vargan could be anywhere, passing on the secrets of Camelot to men that wanted the crown prince dead or abducted.

He was going to faint. He could see the guards leer at him with unbridled hate, and even Gwaine didn’t feel like making a joke about this situation.

“We cannot reach Camelot again before nightfall,” the prince declared. “We will turn back and make camp at the nearest clearing.”

With that, it was officially over. Elyan could see the defeat take hold of his companions, sagging shoulders and knitting brows. Though nobody had said it, it had been clear who was to blame. So when the prince approached him while taking their dinner, Elyan braced himself for the worst.

Instead, Arthur just placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Will you promise me not to act all valiant when we come back?”

Elyan was so confused that he didn’t answer. He just blinked at the prince’s face until Arthur sighed.

“Look, I know you blame yourself,” he said, not exactly whispering but with a voice low enough for others not to hear. “But you are the best tracker I have ever met, and I was so certain of you that I forgot that no one can have their eyes on three places at the same time. Not even you.”

Elyan swallowed. To hear the amount of trust Arthur had placed in him made it only more terrible that he had squandered it.

But that was not where Arthur chose to take his speech. Instead, he looked Elyan deep in the eye.

“I haven’t offered you any help with the tracking, and neither have Percival and Gwaine. That was unreasonable.”

The knight was certain his mouth was hanging open. This was the closest thing to an apology he had ever heard the prince utter. For it to be directed at him, after he had just let a spy escape and endangered Arthur’s own life, was practically impossible.

And yet, the prince’s face was sincere, and he smiled a little when he went on, tone hushed and conspirational.

“When I report to the king tomorrow, he will want to know how we could have been led astray like this. Of course, I will have to explain this, but I was hoping no names would have to be specified. I know how much you value honesty, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would let me keep the details vague this once.”

Elyan would have to ask Merlin what he had put in their dinner tonight, because the prince was acting incredibly odd, not only apologising to him but also proposing to lie to the king. At the moment, though, Elyan couldn’t worry about that too much. All he could do was nod, with such force that he felt his head might fall off, and try not to cry from gratitude.

Whatever was going on that made Arthur behave this way, Elyan could only be thankful it had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, I hope you liked this! I know this is basically just a very long filler chapter, but I wanted to post it now instead of waiting until I had finished the rest, since it might take some time before I can write again. But I can promise that the next chapter is going to be very exciting, it's one of my personal favourites and it'll finally get us into the core of the rest of this fic. But I really needed to flesh out everybody's motivations and stuff first, so I hope that this chapter has done that.
> 
> As always, I am very excited to hear what you thought of it! Your kudos and comments always make my day so thank you to everyone who has taken the time to motivate me <3


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I should just stop apologising for taking so long to post because it's just same old same old by now :P I do want to apologise for the kind of rambly style in this chapter, I am leaning towards a fever and my brain is not feeling too great. But I am faaarrrr too excited about this chapter to wait and edit, so here you go! I hope you enjoy it!

Despite the weariness, despite the defeat, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and slip away, Arthur could not sleep. A restlessness had settled onto him and refused to leave. And really, it was not as if he had no reason to worry. Lord Vargan had outwitted them and joined whoever it was he was working for, leaving them all feeling incredibly vulnerable and incredibly stupid. He knew especially Elyan was suffering. The man was quite insecure, and would always blame things on himself, even when it was unwarranted. If anything, Arthur was the one to blame for this mistake. He should have been with his knights, following the tracks that were of vital importance to him even more than the others. After all, it had been the prince these people seemed to be after.

Arthur shuddered at the memory of the previous attack, on their way to Dorothea. There was nothing he hated more than being helpless, and he had truly been helpless that day. If it hadn’t been for that fallen tree, there would be no knowing how that day would have ended.

The prince briefly pondered on that miraculous rescue, but put it aside. To others, such a fortunate turn of fate might raise suspicion, but to Arthur these things almost seemed normal. He had come to terms with his extreme luck years ago. Truth was, no matter what happened, no matter what ludicrous danger he had to face or what poisonous enchantment had taken hold of him, Arthur survived. At first, it had felt like a narrow escape, but after years of quest after quest going inexplicably well, the prince had pushed away any doubt and simply accepted that fate had other things in mind for him. He had heard whispers about prophecies foretelling him to become a king, and although he would never be so naïve as to put faith in something procured by the crime of magic, he had to admit he’d started to count on a minor miracle aiding him now and then. It felt quite natural, really.

Still, this time things felt different. Maybe Arthur had unknowingly killed a holy animal again, but it felt as if something was off about this whole situation. For one thing, his luck, whatever it was, only seemed to be able to keep him alive. His whole past had been a testament to the fact that it couldn’t protect him from all harm, most certainly not of the emotional kind. Which was fine, truly. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But it did become a little troubling when he applied that same superstition to his current circumstances. If he would only get kidnapped, there was no reason to believe that whatever was protecting him would help him. And if he were honest, he really wanted some help.

He wanted some help to cheer up his men. He wanted help to face his father tomorrow, having to admit incompetence to the most severe judge. He wanted someone to trust.

Arthur opened his eyes a little, and sighed at the sight of Merlin sleeping next to him. He had let go of his fears of finding his servant entangled with a guard a couple of hours before, when Peter had added a bunch of herbs to Merlin’s diligently made stew that had made the whole thing taste like horse manure. The look that Merlin had shot the guard had been hard to misconstrue – it breathed pure repulsion. It took Arthur all his might to hide a smile – jealousy wasn’t becoming for a prince – and it had been worth having to eat a terrible meal for.

But still.

Even if Merlin wasn’t interested in Peter, the guard definitely was attracted to the prince’s servant. Arthur had seen him stare at the man plenty of times, and his mingling in the cookery had clearly been an attempt to impress Merlin. And then there were the knights, who loved Merlin so much, and all the servants that shot him fond smiles whenever they thought Arthur wasn’t looking.  
It was so clear now, that it was laughable it hadn’t occurred to the prince before.

Merlin could get anyone he wanted.

Sure, he wasn’t classically handsome, like Gwaine or Percival or even Peter. Merlin’s ears stuck out, and his hair was a mess, and his body really looked too gangly for someone out of puberty. He was clumsy and insolent, and not many of the things that one would usually look for in a man. But he was also kind, and caring, and really quite funny. He was incredibly smart and well, his face wasn’t that terrible to look at, especially when it was lit up with a bright smile, which is was so very often. And if Arthur was honest, the thought of kissing Merlin made his heart beat just a bit faster, which was something Gwaine nor Percival managed to do, let alone that twat of a guard.

So yes, Arthur could understand why everyone seemed to love his servant. And wasn’t that just the problem.

Because Merlin could get anyone he wanted, but he had wanted Arthur.

And Arthur had rejected him.

Why had he done that? Why had Arthur been so bloody adamant in his refusal? It felt impossible that he had been trying his best to avoid any kind of ‘practice’ with Merlin only last night, and already felt it was the biggest mistake of his life.

After all, would it be so wrong to do this with someone he trusted, someone he liked?

Arthur let his eyes rest on his servant’s face. If he would stretch his arm out far enough, he could touch him. As he watched Merlin’s chest rise and fall peacefully, there was a soft tugging in his chest.

If he was honest, if he was really, frightfully honest, Arthur knew what that feeling meant. It meant that he didn’t want to kiss Merlin only because he trusted him. It meant he hadn’t refused because he didn’t want to kiss Merlin at all. He had refused because the thought that kissing Merlin would just be ‘practice’ was breaking his heart. Arthur didn’t know what he should be practicing for when this was all he wanted. And if that couldn’t be, for reasons unfair but clear, for obstacles numerous and complex, because he was a prince and Merlin a servant, because they were both men, because he needed an heir – if it couldn’t be, Arthur wouldn’t torture himself with allowing himself to ‘practice’.

But a heart is hard thing to deny. And Arthur’s heart knew what it wanted. It wanted, more than anything, to reach out and touch the boy next to him, consequences be damned. It wanted to pour itself out over this mere servant, lock him inside, to have and to hold till death do us part.

And it was that pain, that dull ache flared up again, that kept the prince awake, body carefully angled away from the man standing guard, watching his love sleep so close and so incredibly far away.  
Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. It was vital he get some sleep. Whatever was going on between him and Merlin could wait until they were back at Camelot.

The prince opened his eyes to sneak one last look, only to find Merlin staring right back at him.

Arthur couldn’t even manage to turn away. He just lay there in silent shock, as he and Merlin stared at each other with wide open eyes.  
How the hell was that even possible? Arthur could have sworn his servant had been asleep mere seconds ago. Arthur’s cheeks heated up as he realised Merlin had probably been awake all this time, feeling the prince’s gaze hang onto him as if he was a lifeline.

Great. It seemed as if it could not wait until Camelot. As if in agreement, Merlin raised his eyebrows quickly, as if posing a question.  
It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t but the idea made desire pool in Arthur’s stomach, and before he knew it he was standing upright. He didn’t even know what he was going to do until he heard someone scrape his throat behind him.

Arthur swivelled around, to find Peter staring at him inquisitively.

Oh yeah. Stupid guard standing guard.

“I have to pee,” Arthur improvised, cringing a little. It had been years since he had last excused himself so crudely, but there was no way this man would now that. For some extra effect, the prince pointed a thumb in the direction of the darkest part of the forest and hopped from foot to foot. Surely that would suffice to convince Peter his royal bladder desperately needed to be emptied. After all, if Arthur were honest, he was quite a good actor.

He realised he had been waiting for some kind of response from the guard, which was ludicrous to say the least, so Arthur turned on is heel and stalked away. In passing, he glanced down at Merlin. The servant had his eyes closed, but it was easy to see he had a hard time suppressing his laughter. Clearly, he didn’t think the prince such a good actor at all. Arthur huffed.

Still, as he made his way through the trees until the embers of the fire were no longer to be seen, Arthur couldn’t manage to make himself feel insulted. Much more urgent were the nervous bubbles rising from his stomach, his chest, his whole damned body. Would Merlin join him here? Would he be able to find him? Wasn’t all of this just a big misunderstanding at play?

Arthur fretted for a while, and waited.

He waited and waited and waited.

Just as he was about to return to his bedroll, resigned that Merlin had chosen the guard over a prince after all, he heard something stumbling in the bushes. Always the hunter, Arthur hid himself from view behind a tree until he was absolutely certain that the man muttering and stomping around was indeed his servant.

It did please him to see Merlin jump at his reappearance. It pleased him immensely to see Merlin at all. And while the other man clasped his chest in silent laughter, Arthur’s heart wanted to jump straight out of its own cage.

“You are _such_ a prat,” Merlin managed to bring out, still recovering from the shock. Then he laughed again, barely more than a breath but still, so sweetly. “I was terrified you might actually be peeing. Although,” he added quickly, “that was the most unconvincing lie I have ever seen.”

“And yet, you believed it, so more fool you,” Arthur smirked.

The prince could see Merlin’s eyeballs gleam in the light as he rolled his eyes. Then, the servant settled and smiled sincerely. “I’m glad to see you.”

“So am I,” Arthur let out, and by the gods, what was that feeling in his stomach?

“I didn’t like the way we ended things last night,” Merlin said, seemingly oblivious to the ruckus he was causing in the other man’s head. “I was overeager, and that was my mistake. I just wanted you to know that you can always come to me with questions, or to talk. We don’t have to practice anything if you don’t want to.”

And oh, was Arthur happy he was standing in the shade. If Merlin could’ve seen his face now, there would be no denying of the feverish blush that rushed over his cheeks. Arthur’s heart beat so loudly that he feared his servant would hear, and gods, why was he being such a girl about this? He was Arthur, Crown Prince to the prosperous lands of Camelot, and here he stood fumbling for words.

“Actually,” he managed, hating how high his voice sounded, “I thought about it and maybe practicing with you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Well, at least it was out. Arthur rather fancied sinking into the forest floor and vegetating there for the rest of the century, but Merlin’s face lit up with excitement, so he must have said something right.

Or maybe Merlin wanted to kiss Arthur just as badly as Arthur wanted to kiss him.

“We can take it slowly,” Merlin offered, and by now Arthur was certain there was an entire beehive located in his abdomen. “I don’t want to rush you.”

“Yeah,” was all Arthur could so eloquently produce. He found his mouth to be incredibly dry. All those years he had lived with an abundance of saliva, but when he really needed t for once, it abandoned ship.

“Why don’t you show me what you can already do?”

The last bits of rationale remaining in the prince were piqued by this belittling request. What gave Merlin the right to speak to him as if he were a mere child? Just because some druids were convinced of Merlin’s great skill in the matter – which was something he was not going to think about right now – there was no reason to assume the prince an amateur.

Then again, he really was, wasn’t he?

Because for the life of him, he didn't know what to do.

But Merlin was there, waiting for him. Merlin was staring at him so expectantly, with that encouraging smile on his face. It was the kind of smile Merlin would give to a knight if the training was proving too much for him. _You can do this_, that smile said. _I believe in you._

Arthur really hoped Merlin was right.

Only one way to find out.

And so Arthur Pendragon closed the distance between them, placed his sweaty hands on his servant’s face, and kissed him.

***

Arthur was kissing him.

Not in a dream, not in a fantasy, but right here, in a dark forest. He really was.

_Arthur_ was kissing _him_. And gods, he was so good at it.

There was nothing Merlin wanted more than to let his trembling knees buckle and make his golden prince swoop him up into a tight embrace, never once breaking the desperate contact their lips would make. Merlin wanted to hold onto Arthur and never let go, to forget about knights and spies and revel in the tenderness of this boy’s kiss.

But Merlin couldn’t even bring himself to kiss back. Because something here was very, very wrong.

Admittedly, Merlin had not really been able to imagine Arthur with any kind of magical powers. Gaius’ explanation had seemed quite logical to him.

Which was why it confused him so much that Arthur had wanted to practice after all. The prince was not one to do something he felt he might fail at. And surely Arthur had seemed nervous, terribly so, but that was all to be expected. And him cupping the warlock’s face was strange, yes, and it definitely sent a very unprofessional and nonplatonic shiver along Merlin’s spine, but it would have made sense for Arthur to have some kind of intimate power, reading the mind or so. It would explain why he hadn’t noticed before, why no one had realised-

And then Arthur had kissed him. And it was magic. It was the kind of magic that comes from wanting something for so long, with such fierce devotion, with no possibility of obtaining it whatsoever, and then getting it at the most unexpected of times. It was the kind of magic that sparked from soft lips and somebody else’s hair fluttering against his skin, like every part of Arthur’s body wanted to caress him. It was the kind of magic that can only come from love, true love, that has been forged before the beginning of time and blossomed through years of companionship and trust. It was the most magical kind of magic Merlin had ever encountered.

But it was not the kind of magic Merlin had meant.

And so, rather than give in and kiss back and hold Arthur like he had always wanted to, Merlin stood frozen in the night. And when Arthur let go, leaving lips wet and cold and empty, eyes burning frantic questions into Merlin’s soul, the man found he could not answer them. Because there had been a mistake, so colossal, so reckless, that it could have cost him his life.  
Instead, it would cost both their hearts.

“Was it that bad?” Arthur asked, his attempt to joke thwarted by his strangled voice. He scratched his neck self-consciously. “It’s fine if you changed your mind or anything, I –“

Silence. More than anything, Merlin needed silence. He needed to be alone, to think about how he could have been so stupid, to repeat everything that had been said so he’d know if Arthur could find out. And he would, of course he would. Any moment now, the prince would realise that there had been a mistake, a grave and fatal misunderstanding.

Arthur would realise that the man he was in love with – because Arthur loved him, Merlin could feel it, the whole forest could feel it, how had he never seen until now? – that Merlin was not what the prince thought him to be. Merlin was not just a simple manservant with a knack for talking back. Part of him was, just as part of him – an overwhelmingly immense part – was head over heals in love with Arthur. But those parts of him did not matter. They were overshadowed, always eclipsed, by the fact that Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin was a warlock and a liar. That was what Arthur would see.  
He would realise he had kissed a criminal, a man born a traitor, never redeemable by his acts. Arthur would realise what was going on, and he would hate him.

Because Arthur could handle sorcery. Somewhere, Merlin had always be certain of that. But the prince had been pouring his heart out to Merlin, had confessed secrets no one else knew. And he would hate Merlin for not returning that trust.

And though Merlin was not a coward, he could not bear to see that happen, to see the love be overtaken by betrayal and regret.

So he ran.

He could hear Arthur shouting his name, but he ignored it, willing himself to go faster, to get as far away as he could. Yet soon, he reached a river. Fraught as he was, he was unable to reach his magic, and he halted, out of breath. Leaning against a tree, Merlin tried to calm himself. He could hear Arthur’s footsteps coming nearer. Perhaps, if the sorcerer stood very still, he wouldn’t be found. He knew he couldn’t keep hiding for long, would have to face the consequences soon enough, but it was worth a try.

Merlin couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Arthur’s eyes just yet.

He could already hear the princes low calls behind him when the raven came. It settled on a branch not far away from Merlin. And though the sorcerer knew that it was dark, and that his powers of recognition weren’t great even in the clearest of light, Merlin thought he knew this raven. There was something in the way it shook its feathers that made Merlin’s pulse quicken. Because right now, with Arthur’s breath audible behind him, was the worst possible moment for Brutus to show up.

Holding his breath, Merlin wished by all his gods that the raven wasn’t that well trained. Maybe it wouldn’t recognise the hand that fed him for so long. But ravens were smart creatures, and loyal ones. There was no prayer in the world that could save him now.

With a majestic swoop, the raven came down.

It didn’t come towards Merlin.

Instead, it dove straight into a shrubbery. Still, the rustling of leaves was loud enough to attract Arthur’s attention.

“Merlin,” the prince breathed as he noticed his servant. Grabbing his arm, he turned Merlin to face him.

“Wait!” Merlin pleaded. _Wait before you make me see how much I’ve hurt you. Wait before you condemn me for not being who you wanted._

But some things cannot be said without tears, and Merlin did not want stand here crying. He couldn’t bear to lay bare so much of himself in one night. And so he just pointed to the bushes behind him, and offered weakly: “The raven…”

“I don’t care for your fucking ravens, Merlin,” the prince spat out. And as Merlin dared to confront his gaze, all the anger, all the fear, all the distrust washed over him. And he could swear he could feel his heart break.

“You should, you know,” it sounded suddenly, a voice familiar yet wholly displaced.

Merlin saw the prince’s face turn slack as he looked up. Turning around, the sorcerer felt himself freeze at the sight before him.

Peter was standing before them, up until his waist in a shrubbery. He seemed naked, chest covered with hairs as fine and black as the feathers of a raven. A larger plume stuck from his tousled hair.

“Ravens are such majestic animals, you know?” he grinned, angling his head to the side in an eerily birdlike way.

Flabbergasted, Merlin watched as the guard raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

“_Codlata Ortsa_,” he said, and before Merlin could parry the spell, a cloud of black came over him.

He could hear a thud when Arthur’s body hit the ground, and then a second one when his own followed.

The last thing he saw were the guard’s eyes, glowing gold into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahhhh, I'm so glad this is finally out here!! What did you think? From here on out, the real action can get started, I am so excited!! Please let me know your thoughts, I love to read all your amazing comments, especially since some of you were alrady expressing suspicion about Lord Vargan's role as a spy. How does it feel to be right? :D Okay I am far too hyped, I'm going to sleep now. Hope you liked this!! xxxxx


	9. Chapter Nine

It was a question that had haunted many of Camelot’s officials since the day of Vargan’s disappearance: what had made the spy leave at this particular moment? Nothing special had been said during that night’s meeting. Why not stay longer, gather more information in his role of trusted minister? What could have been so important for him to recklessly blow so inconspicuous a cover?  
These and many other ponderings hummed through the corridors of the castle as the people waited for the return of the group sent to retrieve the traitor. But before that happened, part of the mystery would already be solved.

***

Martha was chasing a rat. It was a big, fat, nasty rat, and it did not belong in her kitchen. She had spotted the insolent creature nearing her finely preserved wine, and the anger, built up by hours of toil and anguish, had flared up. If this had been another day, she might have been content to simply chase the beast away with a broom, but not today. The crown prince had once again ventured on a dangerous quest, which didn’t only fill the entire castle with fear for his wellbeing, but also meant that there would be no one to calm the King down if the servants made a mistake. And it would be terribly inconvenient for Uther to get accidentally poisoned with rat droppings when there was no heir to take his throne.

Besides, Martha had had a very long day. She was going to hunt that rat down out of pure aggression and spite.

And so it did happen.

She chased the rat for more than an hour. She would lose it sometimes, for it well used its size to escape her clutches, hiding into holes she couldn’t possibly creep after. But Martha was dedicated, and Martha had come prepared. She had grown up in this castle, and knew all its corridors and ways, even the once mapped out by mice. In passing, she had taken a bucket of clay from one of the handymen sent to repair an old chamber. Each time her hairy victim disappeared into one of its crannies, she was sure to fill it up with clay, leaving him no way to turn back. Then, she would stalk around on her stout legs, which carried her much faster than her opponent could suspect. She would be waiting for him when he re-emerged. Still, the rat was swift and smart, escaping her vengeance with one who fears for his life.

Their chase led Martha deeper and deeper into the castle’s catacombs. They had passed secret passageways and hidden chambers, souterrains and rows and rows of dungeons. Some of them housed prisoners, following Martha with questioning eyes as she sped away through the shadows. Yet the cells she now passed had long been abandoned, with only grinning skeletons to cheer her on. This part of the castle was hardly ever used, and cobwebs lined the hall. Her bucket of clay had long ago been emptied, and its hollow clang resounded through the empty space as she carefully made her way. She had not been here before, she had to admit. She had known these dungeons existed, but had never dared to go. There were tales in the castle of ghosts, spirits of sorcerers that were executed but refused to leave this world. She shivered as a cold draft breathed in her neck, though they were far too deep into the ground for the wind to reach. Martha was not superstitious, but this placed crawled into her skin, and she tread on with caution. Even the rat slowed down, as if haunted by the same fear.

Martha shook her head. She was a grown woman now, and she would not believe in fairy tales. She set her jaw in fierce determination as she searched the uneven floor for her rat.

She couldn’t find it.

A panic rose in her chest, irrational but unravelling. Moving her head from side to side, she searched frantically for any trace of the animal, but none could be found. Fear gripped her heart like a hand of ice when she realised she was the only living thing in this godforsaken place. When the rat had still been with her, she had had a purpose, a reason to be here. But now it was gone, and she felt as if the dirty creature had betrayed her, had led her into these tombs of doom like a devil’s emissary, only to go up in smoke as they had reached this cursed place. The gravity of her situation settled on her with great force. If something happened to her here, it would be years before she was found. Her children would grow up motherless, and she would join the ghosts her mother had so warned her for.

Falling over her feet, she made for the exit. She could feel the monsters coming for her, reaching for her with icy hands as she tried to run away.

_“Save me!”_

Martha screamed.

The bucket landed on the stone tiles with a loud clang, which reverberated through the cells around her, echoes of the harsh sound surrounding her on all sides. Between them, the ghost still sounded, a hollow voice, gruff and hoarse, begging to be saved.

“Leave me alone!” Martha screamed, pushing her hands to her ears as she fell onto the floor, her entre bod shaking in fear. “I can’t help you! I have children, they need me, they need me!”  
She lay sobbing in the dust until all the sounds around her died away, and her voice was the only one she could hear. For a moment, she lay very still, waiting for the hands of death to grasp her, but nothing came. When she could finally stop crying, she righted herself to a sitting position. The torch she had brought had fallen beside her, barely more than embers by now. She picked it up quickly, blowing the fire back to life. As the flames painted flickering shadows on the arching walls, she heard the voice again, though it didn’t sound so supernatural now.  
“Lady, please, help me,” came the voice, barely more than a whisper.

Turning around, Martha looked inside the cells, and took a step back when she found a face staring back at her. Though his chin had grown a stubble and his lips had parched, she still recognised the man. Now, no fears could stop her as she sped back up the stairs, shouting for every guard in Camelot to come her way. When they came, bounding down the stairs with two steps at a time, she turned right back again, and guided them straight to the cell where she had found Lord Vargan.

***

Peter had to try his very best not to whistle. He had an appearance of distress and fear to hold up, but it was hard not to gloat when his plan was going so well. Of course, it wasn’t really his plan. He was man enough to admit that Silas had done most of the thinking. But Peter had been the one to execute it, and flawlessly so, if he might say so himself. The knights were combing through the woods to find their prince, voices growing more frightened every minute as they searched by the light of the low-hanging moon. They had gone over the same square miles for hours now. It really astonished Peter that these men, supposedly the finest in the Kingdom, hadn’t realised yet that their prince was not hiding under a bush.

To be fair, the knights were a little distressed. Sir Percival was even more silent than usual, and sir Elyan was trembling head to toe. It would only take a little nudge to get him to burst into tears. Tempting though it might be to see the mighty man reduced to tears, Peter had to be careful. The guards hardly spent any time with the prince, but they still saw him often enough to feel a loyalty for the man. So far, Peter hadn’t really had to fake his worry. This was the most important part of their plan – the knights were still close enough to find Silas’ hideaway. It was of vital importance that Peter lead them back to Camelot before they started to examine a wider perimeter. Even more pressing was his own alibi. He needed the knights to trust him for this to end well.  
The pressure was sufficient for his panic to be real enough as he had woken his travel companions a few hours ago.

He had shaken Percival’s shoulders, almost sobbing with stress and the fatigue of using magic.

“They’re gone!” he had shouted. “He said he was just going to relieve himself, and he never came back!”

The other knights had shot up, already grasping for their swords.

“Where is Merlin?” sir Gwaine had asked, immediately.

Peter had swallowed, stress almost closing his throat. He had known the questions would come, had practiced them under his breath as he had watched two of his fellow rebels levitate the bodies to their base, their footprints erasing themselves as they walked.

Peter exhaled deeply. There were no traces. There was no way for them to know it was him if he just acted naturally.

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he told the knight. “He left a little after His Majesty. I just assumed…”

Sir Gwaine had raised his eyebrows, which was ridiculous. Out of all the things Peter was going to say, at least this was true. He had assumed the prince and his manservant were going to have a romantic rendez-vous in the forest, and he had been right. Peter almost felt insulted that Gwaine didn’t believe him. He hadn’t even truly started lying yet!

“How long were they gone before you thought to wake us up?” the knight interrogated. Why couldn’t he just panic like the others? Sir Elyan was frantically throwing around bedrolls, as if the prince and his servant had hidden themselves underneath. That was a much better use of time than cornering Peter.

“I don’t know,” he said again. He had made sure people thought him an idiot, and he would use that to his advantage now. “I figured they needed some time, and it isn’t really my place to go after the crown prince when he has excused myself, is it?” He had shrugged, then let out a shuddering breath to show he was very repentant of his inertia. “And then when I started looking, I couldn’t find them. I saw some traces leading to the river, but after that, nothing. I searched everywhere, I swear.”

He had scratched his head to draw attention to the few sticks and leaves he had carefully added to his hair. Surely this must convince the knight he had spared no effort trying to find the prince.  
And indeed, sir Gwaine had turned away, though his eyes had kept haunting Peter for the rest of the night.

Which was a problem, now. Because Peter’s worst nerves had faded away, and he was feeling rather giddy at the moment. If that stupid knight hadn’t been so wary, he would’ve gone off to have a little laugh long ago. Instead, he was forced to make himself frown and fret to keep up appearances. It really didn’t help that Ian was so upset, either. The other guard was awfully fraught for someone who had barely exchanged a word with the prince, and it was making Peter look coldblooded for not trembling, too.

In the end, it was sir Percival that saved him, though.

After hours of fruitless searching, the giant let out a heavy sigh.

“They aren’t here,” he said. “We have looked everywhere. It is time to return to Camelot. The king must be informed.”

Sir Elyan let out a strangled sob.

“Please,” he said, grasping his friend by the arm. “Maybe they fell into the river-“

“We already followed the river to the lake. They aren’t there.”

Peter had to suppress a smirk when Elyan wiped his eyes. Not that strong after all.

Finally, the knight nodded. “You are right, we should go. Uther needs to know to prepare for… for-“

“Sorcerers?” Peter finished the sentence. Too late did he realise that Elyan was going to say anything else.

“What makes you say that?” sir Gwaine asked, eying him suspiciously. “Did you see anything?”

This was bad. This was really bad. Everyone was looking at him, and he did not prepare for this question at all.

Peter decided not to lie, this time. He just threw his hands up in very real desperation.

“No, I didn’t see anything!” That was technically a lie, but after years of spying and plotting against the kingdom, it was hard to be completely honest. “But doesn’t that just prove it? Two grown men are gone, disappeared without a trace. I bet it’s magic. Who else would want to hurt the prince?”

Gwaine squeezed his eyes at him, then slowly nodded. Instant relief flooded Peter’s body, though it was hard to ignore the tension completely. Maybe it hadn’t been smart of him to expose the method of abduction already. It could give the knights even more reasons to stay, reluctant as they would be to leave their beloved prince in the grasp of the sorcerers they so hated.

Fortunately for him, Ian started crying right then.

“If it’s magic,” he hiccupped in between sobs, “they could be anywhere. We’ll never find them again!”

Peter had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. While very grateful that Ian took the attention away from him, he was getting rather fed up with his dedication to that spoiled prince. He had known that most of the actual guards held the crown prince in high esteem, but surely such a reaction was excessive. Still, it helped him, so he wouldn’t complain for now. Instead, he patted his crying colleague on the back, trying to calm him down as the knights discussed.

Straining his remaining ear, he listened to their conversation. It seemed that his suggestion about the sorcerers hadn’t been that bad after all.

A few minutes later, they started their journey back to Camelot, leaving Silas, Merlin and Arthur further behind them with every step.

***

By the time that they entered the throne room, the entire city of Camelot knew the Crown Prince was missing. They had been foolish enough to lead three unridden horses through the city gates, and the lack of a golden head had made many a citizen scream in anguish. The news travelled faster through the narrow streets than their horses could, no matter how they spurred them on.  
Gwaine could already see the king on the steps to the castle. The man’s stance hardened when he saw the rumours to be true, and he turned on his heel before they could address him.

Now, they were standing before the doors of the throne room, with only the thick wood to separate them from unimaginable anger.

Gwaine cast a quick look at the other knights. Percival’s face was immeasurably hard, but he seemed determined. Elyan, on the other hand, had completely crumbled. Gwaine knew how much his friend cared for both Arthur and Merlin, and that he would undoubtedly be blaming himself for their disappearance. As they galloped towards the castle, he had heard Elyan mutter that none of this would have happened if he had just paid more attention to the tracks. Gwaine had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he doubted that had worked. He just hoped Elyan wouldn’t go around saying these kinds of things to Uther. Arthur wouldn’t have wanted that.

He winced at the past tense of his thoughts.

Arthur couldn’t be dead. It was that simple. He couldn’t. And neither could Merlin. These two were far too obnoxious to die so easily, or else they’d have done it a long time ago. Gwaine hated the pang in his heart as he thought about all the reckless adventures they had survived together.

Somehow, it had never really felt like danger.

He never thought they could actually die.

He ached to run, to leave this terrifying king behind and go to the tavern. He needed to drink, to drown his thoughts until he could stand them again. He needed anything, everything, that could make him believe his friends would survive this, too.

But Gwaine couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave his friends to deal with a father’s fury alone. And so, he inhaled deeply, and cast his friends a look.

“Merlin is a lucky bastard for escaping Uther’s wrath like this,” he joked. “Should’ve let myself get kidnapped too.”

Nobody laughed, but that didn’t matter. At least they were preparing themselves for what they had to face.

With that, Gwaine opened the double doors to the throne room, and faced the King.

Uther was sat upon his throne. His eyes gleamed with hatred as the men entered the room. They fell over each other’s words, each trying to explain the situation without appointing too much blame.

“We looked everywhere-“

“- just gone-“

“- all my fault, all my fault-“

“Silence!” Uther bellowed through the room. The knights held their tongues.

The king pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there anybody in this room who can explain to me how you could have failed so badly?”

Elyan let out a pitiful whimper, and Uther shot him a disgusted look. Gwaine tried to open his mouth, but Uther was quick to dismiss him.

“I have no time for your nonsense, sir Gwaine,” he sneered, turning his attention to Percival instead. Truth be told, the knight really seemed to be trying to talk, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. But if Gwaine knew Percy, it would be physically impossible for him to actually produce a sound in such circumstances. Percival was always sparse in his speech, and scrutiny only made that worse.

All things considered, Gwaine was almost grateful when that stupid guard, Peter, piped up.

Almost.

Because truth be told, Gwaine didn’t trust the man, and he liked him even less. There was something unsettling about the guard. Gwaine had noticed before, but the events of the past night had only strengthened his suspicions. His anguish had been too smooth, too well-thought-through.

Gwaine dismissed the idea. It was one thing to distrust the man. It was a whole other thing to think him an evil genius. Peter must have worked in the castle for a long time to be trusted to guard the prince. No one could pretend to be an idiot for that long without actually being one.

Maybe Gwaine was just tired. Because if he was truly honest, Peter probably hadn’t done anything wrong. Gwaine was just looking for a culprit. If only there were someone to blame it on, so he could stop feeling like it was his own fault that this had happened. He knew it wasn’t, just as it wasn’t Elyan’s fault, or Percy’s. But it was hard to shake the thought that, if only Gwaine had been awake…  
“Excuse me, Sire,” Peter started. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Never mind. Gwaine hated this guy and his slimy little tone.

Uther simply nodded at the guard. “Speak.”

And so, Peter spoke. He explained how they had been led astray by the lone horse, leaving Lord Vargan free to escape. Uther had let out a disgruntled sound as he heard, and Gwaine could see Elyan shrink, though Peter never did mention him by name. He didn’t need to – everyone knew tracking was Elyan’s strong suit. Maybe if Gwaine had helped him…

“I was on watch when the prince woke up and excused himself for, for, nature’s call,” Peter said, making Gwaine groan. The King shot him a warning look, which the knight ignored. He really needed some ale to survive this.

“His Highness’s manservant soon followed suit,” Peter went on. Gwaine already had his hand on his sword. If that idiot were to insinuate any kind of relationship between Arthur and Merlin, Gwaine wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He could not stand by as his friends were accused of a deed so very despised by the king, no matter how true it might be. If Gwaine wanted to believe they were still alive, he would be a dreadful friend for not keeping their reputation clean in their absence. The last thing Merlin needed was a death sentence after escaping. Because they would escape. They always did.

“Why do you think that servant disappeared along with my son?” Uther asked, and Gwaine swallowed. The moments between question and response were filled with the loud and quick beating of his heart.

“I can see no reason for that, Sire,” Peter answered, and the relieve that washed over Gwaine was staggering. He reminded himself to buy that helpless idiot of a guard an ale, too.  
He let go of his sword too soon.

“I mean, and pardon me if this is out of line,” Peter continued, “unless Merlin was the one that abducted him.”

The incredulous scoff that left Gwaine’s lips was so involuntary that he only realised he’d let it out after all eyes had turned to him. Still, the notion was too ridiculous not to laugh about. And maybe it wasn’t that funny – Merlin was still getting accused of treason – but it had been a long day, and Gwaine desperately needed to let those contrasting feelings of his out. So he laughed. He laughed really hard, for a really long time, and he couldn’t seem to stop. He was aware he sounded hysterical, that maybe he was, but he couldn’t care less.

“You think _Merlin_ would hurt Arthur?” he let out when he was finally capable of speech again. He wiped away the tears that had streamed over his cheeks – tears of laughter, tears of laughter, tears of laughter – and tried to pull himself together.

“I know you’re not the brightest,” he said, giving Peter a supposedly friendly pat on the shoulder. “But you’d have to be blind not to see that boy’s loyalty. I know Merlin, and he’d rather die than let anything befall the prince.”

“Sir Gwaine,” Uther said icily, “I will not be taking the word of someone that thinks the abduction of my son a laughing matter.”

“Sire-“ Gwaine protested, but the king dismissed him with his hand.

“You will be silent, sir Gwaine. That is an order. If I hear you so much as sigh, I will personally see you thrown into the darkest dungeon of this castle.”

Wow. Fine. Gwaine crossed his arms. He had no problem staying silent. As long as simple guards didn’t go around accusing his friend of crimes he’d never commit.

“I see this Merlin boy has managed to infiltrate into the circle of knights as well,” the king said. He gave a motion to the guard standing by the door, and he disappeared out of the room for a moment.

“Perhaps this will settle your doubt.”

At that, the door opened again, and the guard returned. Next to him stood a man, pale as a ghost. And he felt like a ghost, too, to the men that beheld him now, for they had been chasing his shadow for days.

“Sirs,” Lord Vargan said, acknowledging them as he made his way to Uther’s side, the guard supporting him as he walked.

To say the knights were shocked would be an understatement. When Gwaine finally managed to close his mouth again, he was forced to admit that he might never outdo such a dramatic reveal.  
“A kitchen maid found lord Vargan in the catacombs of the castle last night. Rather than being the spy, he was punished for obstructing the traitor’s work. If we had found him any later, he might not have survived.” Uther’s tone was accusing, as if the knights had been the ones to designate Vargan as the spy in the first place. “Seeing as he survived this gross display of evil, however,” the king continued, “he has been able to provide us with useful information about the spy’s true identity.”

At this, Uther placed a hand on lord Vargan’s shoulder. Gwaine knew that grip. It constituted an order, too.

“I was on my way to the king when I was suddenly most brutally overpowered,” the lord started, and Gwaine immediately had to suppress a chortle. He couldn’t imagine it had taken much brutality to overpower this spoiled sack of a man. Then again, he’d been stuck in a dungeon for days, so he did deserve a little pity.

“I can only assumed I was so grievously mistreated because the traitor wanted to prevent me from reporting to our king the things I had witnessed moments before.”

Gwaine stifled a yawn. It was a natural reaction to aristocrat’s manner of speaking. He was most interested in what the noble had to say, if only he would say it a little sooner. But lord Vargan was clearly relishing his moment of fame, which, again, was fair enough after all he’d been through.

“It is the only explanation I could think of during my many hours in that dreadful place. Yet it was sufficient reason for someone already so deprived. For what I was, my good men…”

Lord Vargan paused to catch his breath, and Gwaine could feel the dread building in his stomach, despite everything he had so desperately tried to convince himself of. _They’re still alive, they’ll be back soon, I’ll protect their honour, Merlin would never hurt Arthur. Merlin would never hurt Arthur._

“It was magic,” Lord Vargan said.

“I remember it well, for it filled me with fear: two people and a ball of light between them, of diabolical proportions. They were in the lady Morgana’s chambers, and one I could identify as the lady herself.”

Gwaine couldn’t suppress this gasp.

Surely the dungeons must have affected the old man’s brain. There was no way that the lady Morgana, the king’s own ward, had magic. Gwaine shot a look at Uther himself, yet the man’s face was an impenetrable mask. He had heard this before, Gwaine realised. He knew what was coming next.

Only then did the gravity of the situation truly set in.

“I would not dare to accuse so noble a woman of practicing witchcraft, of course” Lord Vargan went on. “And surely, after the light faded, I could see her standing bent over, as if struck.”

Turning to the knights, the lord droned on, without regard for the shattered look on Elyan’s face or the tears brimming in Percival’s eyes.

“I fear she has been enchanted, the results of which are still unknown,” he explained, and Gwaine wanted to jump up, to strangle this pompous fool before he could say another word. But the king’s eyes bore into him, and he wasn’t even allowed a word.

And so he listened in silence to what he most feared would come.

Lord Vargan scraped his throat.

“Far more pressing than the Lady’s unfortunate affliction is the one that put it on her. The other figure I saw, the sorcerer that betrayed us all. All of you knights, the lady, and most of all the prince. For I recognised his shadow, and I can tell with certainty, that the spy that lived among us was Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank you for all your patience and kind words. I am aware I left you in suspence for far too long, but university was kicking my butt. I do hope you enjoyed this little update, and I promise to continue writing this story, even if the intervals are a bit long. 
> 
> I also have a lot of ideas for oneshots about these two dorks, so keep an eye out for other, shorter, less angsty stories. I already wrote one called "Hold Me", if you'd like to check it out.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos and bookmarks make me super happy, so please let me know what you think. Thank you for sticking with me xx


	10. Chapter Ten

Arthur woke to the rays of the afternoon sun piercing through an incredibly tiny window, situated incredibly high, in an incredibly thick wall. He stared at that window for a while. He didn’t remember Camelot having windows like this, at least not in the royal chambers. And that wall looked almost as if it was made from earth and pebbles. There was also a strange kind of throbbing inside his head, and this was definitely not his royal bed, and why hadn’t Merlin him woken up sooner?

Oh.

Silly, how the thought of Merlin was the thing that finally got to him. Then again, wasn’t it always?

Arthur groaned, gripping his head as he tried to sit up, memories from the past night rushing back. They had been looking for Lord Vargan but were led astray. The spy had been that useless guard all along. Peter. Peter, who had magic. Peter, who could turn into a crow. Peter, who might have been passing on secret information from Camelot for years, and would go back now to continue his nefarious work. No one would suspect him, would know him for the filthy sorcerer he truly was. With Arthur gone, Uther’s paranoia would grow, yet he would never look at a simpleminded guard. Camelot would fall to pieces, his father would die, his people would suffer. And Arthur was stuck in a cell, unable to stop it from happening.

These were things that did go through Arthur’s head, sooner or later. If one would ever ask him, he would recount these as the first concerns that flitted through his mind as he took in his bearings.  
Even princes are allowed to lie every now and then.

In fact, the first thing that Arthur thought, after his mindless ponderings about the lack of feathered duvets on the hard prison floor, was a lot less princely. It was definitely not something he would ever admit to thinking if asked.

Arthur groaned and gripped his head, as he remembered he had kissed Merlin.

The moonlight had stroked his face so lightly, making Merlin’s cheekbones cast shadows, and his eyes twinkle. Merlin had smiled at him, so sweetly, so comforting, and it had been all Arthur needed to finally break through the years of silencing and fear. 

He had finally worked up the nerve to listen to his heart, to respond to Merlin’s endless propositions, and he had kissed Merlin. And the bloody idiot had run away.  
Arthur winced at the memory. Merlin’s eyes, wide open, his body frozen under Arthur’s touch, the way he had stumbled, ran, hidden himself from sight. With a clench in his heart, Arthur knew his servant had been afraid. Afraid of him.

His head hurt too much to even try and understand Merlin’s reasons. Maybe all those remarks about practicing had been about something else. Maybe they hadn’t, and Merlin had just meant them as jokes. Maybe Merlin had meant them, yet never expected Arthur to act on it. Maybe he was afraid Arthur was joking, or that Arthur would force him to do things he wouldn’t ordinarily do, or maybe just because what they were doing was punishable by death, as decided by Arthur’s own father.

Maybe he had been absolutely right in running away.

Arthur raised his gaze, taking in his whereabouts seriously for the first time since he had woken up. Slowly, he inspected the wall before him. It was dark brown, as if made of earth or clay. The high window only added to the impression that they were underground. 

That would make sense. Whoever Lord Vargan had been working for, they were enemies of Camelot, and would benefit from a lair hidden from inquisitive eyes. It was terribly inconvenient for Arthur, though – he had no way of finding out where they were, or how long they had been here. As a prince, he could appreciate the strategic setting of his cell. As a prisoner in said cell, he was a little less pleased.

His head was still throbbing. Arthur carefully tried to turn his body a little so as to inspect the rest of the room. His whole body protested the movement, limbs hurting like they hadn’t in years. What kind of enchantment had Peter even placed on them? Surely no ordinary sleeping spell would have such side effects? Then again, it was sorcery. It always came at a price.

Arthur told himself to forgive Merlin for running away from him. Clearly, the prince had misjudged the situation. But he would still taunt Merlin for running straight into the trap of a shapeshifting, magical spy. Arthur actually smiled at the thought of how vexed Merlin would be when he brought it up, when he suddenly realised that his cell was far too silent for Merlin to be there, too.  
Arthur whipped his head around so fast that he could swear he heard some joints crack. The thumping in his chest calmed down as he saw a familiar mop of dark hair at the other side of the cell, only to speed up again twice as fast.

Merlin was here, but he wasn’t moving.

Ignoring his aching body and wary thoughts, Arthur clambered to his feet and ran over to his servant.

Merlin was breathing, he noticed with relief as he kneeled down next to his still body. It appeared that he was still under the influence of the enchantment. A thin stream of blood coursed from his temple, clotting his hair and pooling around him on the hard floor. 

Arthur tried to steady his breathing. He was breathing too fast, too shallow, and he couldn’t afford that now. Merlin was hurt, and he needed help. 

Arthur shot another look through their cell. He now noticed that one side was not made from the same clay-like substance. Instead, there were rusty iron bars, and a door that was locked with a large chain and lock. The guard standing outside didn’t react to Arthur’s calls. In fact, he stood so still and unflinching that Arthur wondered whether he could hear him at all, or if their captors had just posited an empty set of armour to watch over their captives.

Then, his eye fell on the water. The carafe was placed in a dark corner, but close enough to grab without having to leave Merlin’s side. In fact, their captors seemed to have taken pity on Merlin too, for next to the jug lay some pieces of cloth and a light green salve that smelled vaguely familiar.

Arthur was no physician, so he just did what he thought was sensible. Wetting one of the pieces of cloth, he carefully cleaned Merlin’s wound. With most of the blood gone, he could see that the wound itself was only a small gash. Still, he made sure to cover it in a thick layer of the herbal salve, and then covered it with another piece of cloth.

Somewhat proud of his handiwork, yet still anxious for its result, Arthur settled down next to Merlin and waited. 

***

The first thing Merlin saw when he got to was Arthur’s face. He dimly registered that this was somewhat out of the ordinary, though he wasn’t complaining. In fact, Merlin couldn’t suppress a smile at the sight of those marvellous blue eyes, though they were set rather sternly, and the golden hair, though uncharacteristically ruffled. The smile truly disappeared, though, when Arthur saw him looking. 

The prince jumped back with such force that he landed against the wall with a thump that made both of them wince. He then proceeded to pretend that had been calculated, and lounged against said wall as if he had been sitting their for ages, his bright red cheeks the only sign that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to look.

Maybe Merlin should have thought about that reaction, but he was still groggy, and memory hadn’t yet caught up with him. Besides, he was just a man. There was only so much he could handle.  
The corners of his mouth twitched, and a most unflattering wheeze escaped his lips. Before he could stop himself, he was clutching his stomach in laughter. Arthur’s indignant expression really wasn’t helping, either. 

“You- your fa-a-ace,” Merlin managed to bring out, tears of laughter forming between his eyes. His head was feeling really funny, but then again, this was all really funny.  
Arthur rolled his eyes before cracking into a smile. 

“That is definitely the last time I’m going to help you,” the prince complained, though there was no menace in his voice. “Next time, I’ll just let you bleed to death.”  
Though said in jest, the remark did have a sobering effect on Merlin. Indeed, it did seem as if there was some sticky substance on his face. And he didn’t remember owning a shirt that was only half red.

Oh. Alright. So he had been bleeding. That did explain some things.

And Arthur had been trying to patch him up. Because Arthur was noble, and really quite nice if he wanted to be, and – shit, shit, shit – Arthur was in love with Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe that, after so many years of longing gazes and lingering touches Arthur had turned out to actually return Merlin’s feelings, and had kissed him. Arthur had kissed him, so sweetly, so honestly – and Merlin had run away.

Suddenly, it seemed impossible that he had been laughing only moments ago. He shot Arthur a quick glance, only to find the other man staring back at him, They both averted their eyes as swiftly as they could. 

Merlin closed his eyes, praying to every god and goddess out there to slip away again. Life had been calmer when he was unconscious, when unbeknownst to him, Arthur’s hands were on his face, cleaning his wounds. After everything, the rejection and the running straight into a trap, Arthur had still taken care of him.

Merlin swallowed as he gingerly touched his head. There was a faint sting at his left temple. The skin was covered with coarse cloth, bound to his head with a strip of softer fabric. Merlin blushed when he realised what it was, that he can recognise it by touch alone. 

“Is that from your tunic?”

Arthur didn’t answer, didn’t have to. His hands played with the torn edge of his tunic, the threads fraying slightly under his fumbling fingers. He was quiet, a silence that went beyond the absence of words. The sadness in his posture, insecure and slumped, was enough to break Merlin’s heart.

It was enough to make him decide.

It was really quite simple, now he thought of it. He would just have to tell Arthur the truth. He would tell him about the magic – or better still, use it to get them out of here. He would show Arthur that his powers could be used for good, that they could save his life as they had so many times before. And after that, if he was still alive, if Arthur still spoke to him, he might explain the rest. Why he lied. Why he ran. 

And maybe, if, against all odds, Arthur still loved him after all of that, Merlin would kiss his prince and never let go. 

Maybe it was the loss of blood, or maybe it was the memory of Arthur’s lips on his, but Merlin hardly felt afraid anymore as he sat up, carefully taking in their cell. He tried not to let his thoughts linger on the remains of Arthur’s efforts – the bloodied cloths, the water jug half emptied, a herbal salve that smelled familiar. Instead, he ignored the faintness washing over him, willing himself to stay strong. If Arthur could be so selfless, then so could Merlin. It might cost him his life, but he didn’t see much use in life if it were spent with Arthur’s pain. 

At least, Arthur would understand him. He might hate him, but at least he would understand. Merlin so desperately wanted him to understand.

It wouldn’t be hard to escape if he could use his magic. The iron door was held close by a simple lock, and as far as Merlin could make out through the bars of their cell, there was only one guard watching over them. 

Merlin nodded to himself. He could do this.

“Alright,” he brought out. He hoped he sounded decisive, but feared the croak in his voice gave him away. 

“I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Arthur didn’t respond to that. When Merlin shot him a quick glance, he could see the mask that was drawn over the prince’s face. It was the face of the royal, the neutral, stone expression that Arthur would wear when the crown weighed him down, when Uther’s eyes weighed upon him. 

Merlin had seen that face a thousand times, and it always filled him with pain. When he saw that face, all he wanted was to take Arthur in his arms and soothe him, let him speak his mind and heart.  
Merlin had never expected that face to be directed at him.

It hurt more than any words could, and Merlin’s confidence wavered. Although it was just the two of them, although they had been so close mere hours ago, Arthur wouldn’t let him come close now, not until Merlin had explained himself. And after that, he would never hold him close again. 

It hurt, to see those furrowed brows, to know that he deserved them, maybe more than Uther did. At least the king was honest about his opinion on magic. 

What hurt most of all, though, was that Merlin could still read Arthur, could feel the pain and fear and apprehension rolling off of him. It seemed wrong, somehow, that in all this, even Arthur’s mask couldn’t offer him the privacy he deserved.

***

If there was anything Arthur despised, it was pity. As a wealthy crown prince, it was not an emotion often expressed in his direction, but what he knew of it, he hated with a passion. The way Gaius would frown when he was close to dying once again, the way Morgana spared him every time Uther had been harsh to him – he knew they meant it well. But no matter the intention, being pitied made him feel weak, unseen. There was something incredibly denigrating in being treated like a fragile vase. His words went unheard, his every sound interpreted as a groan of pain. Even his body was no longer his own, being bandaged and washed whether he wanted to or not. There were the pitying looks and the pitying voices, and all of it was enough to drive Arthur insane, to make him want to jump up and scream “Here, I am healthy, I am fine! Tell me what you think, hurt me if you must, but stop treating me like a child!”

He never said that. They’d ascribe it to whatever enchantment he was under if he did.

But the words were in him, even if unspoken, and they made him hate anything to do with pity. 

They made him hate the way Merlin was looking at him now.

His servant’s eyebrows were knotted, and his hand quivered a little. Though the pity was written clearly on his face, he did look rather pitiful himself. And as Merlin took a shaky breath, Arthur realised why. 

Merlin was terrified of him, of the way he would react to this rejection.

Arthur found that did not help at all. 

“I lied to you,” Merlin said, louder now, as if everyone should hear. Arthur figured that it might just be the case. This was the moment Merlin would expound that really, all those suggestions had only been jokes, a scheme devised by the knights for a few good laughs, an enchantment placed upon him by a wizard that wished Arthur’s downfall. Now would come the apologies, the feigned innocence. Now would come the fear of Arthur’s reaction, and through it all, the pity.

“You’re not gong to like this,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s stomach clenched so much that it felt as if it was only the size of a pea. Merlin let out a shaky laugh, one that did not reach his eyes, as he tried to joke: “Don’t look so glum, I’m finally going to give you a good reason to behead me. You should be ecstatic.”

The joke fell flat. It was hard to laugh when Merlin looked like he really believed Arthur would kill him. Could he really be so caught in his own world that he thought Arthur capable of hurting him?  
Had he done something so truly despicable that Arthur might have to?

“Just say it, Merlin,” the prince snapped, although he didn’t want to know. But though ignorance was bliss, this state of tension, of knowing that something was amiss without knowing exactly what it was, this was pure torture. And so he said, though he wasn’t sure if it was true: “I can handle it.” 

When Merlin still didn’t speak, he groaned. “I swear I won’t behead you yet.”

The remark actually managed to dispel some of the tension in Merlin’s shoulders, which was unsettling to say the least. Arthur tried to push those thoughts away.

Merlin stood up, and Arthur had to resist the urge to jump to his aid as the servant swayed a little on his feet. A thin layer of sweat was upon Merlin’s brow, but he looked more determined than Arthur had ever seen him.

“It was never supposed to end like this. I swear I did it for you, I always did. I never wanted to see you hurt.”

Merlin was wringing his hands, pacing up and down their small confinement. Suddenly, Arthur could feel anger flare up in his chest. This was bullshit, all of it. Merlin should just have stayed quiet, should have forgotten Arthur had kissed him at all, or he should leave and let Arthur wallow in the pain.

Fine, maybe it was difficult to leave, considering the fact that they were locked up in an underground dungeon with no idea of their whereabouts and a guard to prevent their escape. But the least Merlin could do was make his rejection clear. No more beating around the bush. No more pretending to care. It was fine if he didn’t care. But if that was the case, he had no right to act as if he was the one about to get his heart broken. It was humiliating and nerve-wrecking and just plain rude. 

I did it all for you, of course he did. Surely Merlin had been convinced that getting the prince to confide in him was for the best. He probably had a whole plan, hatched out with Gwen and Gwaine and Morgana, and all those other traitors that were more loyal to a servant than to the prince. All this had just been a misguided attempt to get Arthur to face his true nature, as if that would make him a better person. Of course Merlin hadn’t meant to hurt him. Arthur know he wouldn’t, not intentionally.

But still. Merlin had ignored the fact that Arthur was a prince, destined to marry a princess. He had ignored all the laws that forbade the love between members of the same sex. He had not thought about what this would do to Arthur’s reputation if word got out, how it could be used against him by enemies as well as is own people, his own father. He had not thought about what this would do to Arthur’s heart. 

And so it didn’t matter that Merlin’s intentions had been good. He had hurt Arthur, and he had lied. 

Out of everything, that hurt the most.

Arthur didn’t mean to sound so small, so pathetic, but is voice was not his own. 

“Why did you lie?”

Merlin shrugged helplessly, his whole physique radiating pain. “I didn’t want to, but it was too dangerous to tell you the truth.”

Arthur shook his head. He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to try. He was tired of speaking in riddles. “Out with it.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a few times. If things had been different, Arthur might have laughed at the sight of his servant’s loss for words. It was a rare situation for sure. This discordance strung high in Arthur’s chest. 

Merlin walked and turned, walked and turned, going round their cell like a traveller hopelessly lost, desperation growing fiercer each step. Finally, he threw up his hands. 

“Can I show you?”

Arthur could not help but think of all the times Merlin had asked him to show, to practice, and sucked in a breath at the words. He didn’t know what game Merlin was playing, but he didn’t like it. He never took his servant to be cruel.

Merlin didn’t wait for the prince’s response, though. He finally quit his pacing, stopping in front of the door, muttering to himself. 

Arthur waited. There was nothing to see, except Merlin, shaking his head, uttering nonsense under his breath, his hand movements becoming bigger and more erratic as time went on, as if he was explaining something difficult to someone who refused to listen. There was no one there to listen.

Arthur was just about to ask when Merlin was going to show him whatever it was he wanted to show, when Merlin turned around. 

The slight tinge of fear in his servant’s face had made way for a full-blown terror. 

***

This could not be happening. Not now, not when he was finally ready to come clean, to show Arthur what he was, for better or for worse. Not when they were stuck in this godforsaken place. Not when there was a spy still in Camelot. Not now. Not ever.

His magic was gone.

It was buried inside him, still there but bound with chains he couldn’t break, so close and so utterly useless, powerless, gone.  
Merlin could hear himself breathing. He was breathing too loudly, and somewhere, he caught a note of Arthur’s worried voice.

No no no no no no no no NO!

The salve. He knew he recognised that smell. Buckthorn and eye of newt, dandelion roots and juniper. An ancient recipe said to bind magic. Merlin had never believed it could.

It could.

“Did you put this on me?” Merlin asked, voice low and rumbling. Arthur tried to move away, but his back was already against the wall. He nodded.

The scream that Merlin let out didn’t come from himself. It came from the world, from the very core of his ancient religion, a lament for the magic so vilely disarmed, a war cry against those that captured it. It left Merlin slumped upon the floor.

He only barely registered it when Arthur finally dared to move closer, hands hovering frightfully above his skin. 

“What happened, Merlin? What was that?”

“Where did you get it?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Arthur’s question. “Who gave this to you?”

The way he spat out his words, with all the power taken from him, would have made anyone else turn away. But Arthur stayed, shocked but stable. He was a prince now, and the great king of the future shone through as he straightened his shoulders.

“No one did. It was just there, and you were hurt, and it didn’t smell like anything dangerous-“

Merlin snarled. He knew it was wrong to blame Arthur, but he was not himself. He was a shell, soulless, and he was going to bring everybody down with him. He was going to crumble the mighty king to dust. No magic, no Emrys, no prophecy. It seemed only fair Arthur knew his place in the destruction. 

“It didn’t smell dangerous? Really?! You get handed a concoction by the people who have made clear that they are sorcerers, who have kidnapped us and locked us up, and you decide to just smear that stuff right into my bloodstream because it didn’t smell dangerous?”

Arthur opened his mouth, and Merlin really had to stop talking, before he said anything else he didn’t mean, but there was nothing of him left to resist, to hold back the anger and frustration and pain that seemed to fill the emptiness his magic had left behind. 

“I always knew you were oblivious, but this is something else,” Merlin went on. “Do you really not think at all before making a decision?”

“You need to stop now,” Arthur said, struggling to keep his voice even. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

The very air in his lungs was hurting now, every muscle tightening, trying to live without the force to sustain him. “They robbed me, Arthur! They took away the only thing I had left, the only thing I cared about, and it was your hand that administered the poison.”

All of Arthur’s pretended calm was gone now. “Poison? Merlin, are you okay?”

He made to move at Merlin, but the warlock coiled away, hissing.

“Don’t touch me.” He couldn’t stand that kindness now. It would kill him.

But Arthur was staring at him with those frightened eyes, begging for answers. “What did they take, Merlin? What have they stolen?”

Merlin shook his head. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live like this. “My sight, my voice, my strength, my life. I cannot live without it, Arthur! I can’t live without it!”

“What is it Merlin, please?” Arthur looks around, as if Merlin’s magic would be found lying on the floor. When he returns his gaze to his servant, he looks shattered. “I don’t know what’s going on, Merlin” he admits. “You are scaring me.”

And Merlin didn't want anything more than to throw himself into Arthur’s arms and cry. But he couldn't do that. Because Arthur would hold him, but he wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t understand the pain Merlin felt, could never even imagine it. Even if Merlin told him, he couldn’t. He would tell Merlin to be glad to get rid of such a curse, that to cry for such a loss was treason. He would pride himself for unwittingly administering the salve known to bind magic. 

It knocked the wind right out of Merlin’s lungs.

“You knew.”

Of course he knew. Arthur was smart, would have realised what his servant had been confessing all this time. Perhaps their captors had told him, perhaps Arthur had asked for the salve.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the liar told him, because he had known all along.

He had known and he had used it against Merlin when he was asleep, because he was too afraid to face a sorcerer awake. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” he hisses, ignoring the hurt on Arthur’s face. “Did you ask for them to make it for you? Do I disgust you that much?” He spat out the words as he wished he could spit that cursed poison from his blood. “Did you think you could change me, make me what you wanted me to be? I can’t be that way, Arthur! It’ll kill me! I’d rather die!”

There are tears in Arthur’s eyes, because he’s a coward, because he’s a coward scared to face the truth, his feelings, the result of his actions. But the prince’s voice was calm when he spoke, and careful, and so kind. So remorseful. So confused.

“No one is dying today, Merlin,” Arthur promised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but whatever hand I had in taking it, it was outside my knowledge. I want to help you, but you need to trust me.”

Merlin knew he shouldn’t, knew that Arthur could be lying, trying to get his guard down so as to strike the final blow, but something in him shifted. Something in him broke. 

And Arthur must have seen it, too. Whatever reserves he had had were pushed aside, and Arthur came for him with open arms. Merlin buried his face in the red fabric of his tunic, against the golden warmth of the prince’s skin, and cried. 

“You’re a coward, Arthur,” he said, though the venom had left his voice. “You’re a coward, you’re a coward, you’re a coward.”

Arthur just hushed him and stroked his hair. “We’ll get it back for you, whatever it is. I promise you. It’ll all be alright.”

Merlin shook his head, but was too tired to truly protest. Instead, he just kept muttering the only truth he was left with. 

“I’m a coward, I’m a coward, I’m a coward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience, and thank you to Yadayada and loverofbooks123 for their lack of it & reminding me that there are still people out there invested in my story. I'm sorry it took so long, and that it leaves us in an even angstier place than before. I'm in a Not So Great headspace rn so I had a really hard time writing this. I REALLY wish I had the foresight to just have written some silly fluffy sweet happy oneshots instead of this emotional rollercoaster but! here we are and after the rain come the rainbows etc :P  
Love you all for sticking with me, it really means more than I can say. I promise the next one won't require you to report me as missing :P
> 
> xxx


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it is done!! This chapter is an actual monster. It's almost 7.5k so that's around 2.5 times the length of my usual chapters!! It's partly written on my phone so please excuse any typos. I hope you like it, and thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments or bookmarks so far - it really means the world to me and it keeps motivating me to keep writing! Love you!!

Arthur lost track of the time as he sat on the hard prison floor, waiting for Merlin to calm down. One hand was drawing circles on his friend’s back, the other was stroking his dark hair as the sobs slowly faded into sniffles. Arthur had tried to figure out what had happened – something had been stolen, Merlin had been poisoned, Arthur had something to do with it. None of it made sense, and it was making his head hurt, so he decided to simply wait until Merlin was calm enough to explain how Arthur could help reverse whatever had just happened.

Till then, there was nothing to be done but wait and be there for Merlin, be there as a friend, as someone who cared. Arthur would hardly say he enjoyed seeing Merlin so upset, but he was glad to know that Merlin trusted him again, if only a little.

And so, Arthur sat, lost in thought, lost in the touch of Merlin’s tears, lost in time. It actually came as a surprise when Merlin finally disentangled himself from Arthur’s embrace and wiped a ratty sleeve over his face.

His servant let out a shaky laugh, though there was no happiness in it.

“Thanks,” he said, and Arthur nodded. He didn’t know what to say. It had been his pleasure, truly, more so than he wanted to admit to even himself. The prince could live with rejection, but to hold Merlin close, to be allowed to take care of him when he was at his most vulnerable, still felt like a privilege, not a chore. 

His servant opened his mouth, but Arthur waved the apology that would undoubtedly be uttered, away.

“It’s alright,” he said. He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so soft and caring, but if Merlin noticed, he didn’t seem to mind.

Instead he smiled again, venturing to look Arthur in the eyes. Arthur inhaled sharply as he saw the dark rings under his servant’s eyes. It seemed as if Merlin had lost weight, skin taut over bones. All the blood had drained from his face, making him paler than usual, and while there were streaks of salt staining his cheeks, his forehead was shimmering with sweat.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but something in Merlin’s face stopped him.

When Merlin spoke, it clearly taxed the very little energy he had left, so Arthur listened intently, for once not interrupting with jests.

“I know you must be wondering what this is all about,” Merlin said, smiling weakly.

Arthur would say that was an understatement – he had wrecked his brain for a semblance of understanding for what felt to be hours, and had become none the wiser, which vexed him greatly – but he swallowed any complaints and simply nodded.

Merlin let out a shaky breath. “Fine,” he said, nodding to himself, “fine, I’m going to tell you.”

Arthur waited. Merlin didn’t say anything else, so Arthur waited some more. He didn’t know he was holding his breath until his lungs started to ache, and as he subtly gasped for breath, he eyed his servant.

Merlin really looked awful, nervous as well as sick, and he still hadn’t told Arthur what was going on, Something inside the prince was telling him this was bad, this was way worse than he could ever imagine. But Arthur pushed that warning aside.

This was Merlin. Sweet, silly Merlin. What could he tell Arthur that was so terrible?

Merlin must have felt Arthur’s eyes on him, because he wrung his hands and started to speak again. His voice was low and hoarse, and the prince had to strain to make out what he said.

“So, it seems that the salve you gave me was… well, it wasn’t good for me. It made me… unable to do certain things that I was hereto able to do, and it’s very upsetting because it feels like a part of me was stolen away like that, although obviously it’s still here, it just doesn’t work anymore, and please don’t kill me?” His voice veered up at the end of his mumbling, eyes frightful but bravely staring at the prince’s face.

The prince’s very red face.

Alright, so Arthur was probably missing something here. He was absolutely certain there was at least one part, if not multiple parts of this explanation that he misunderstood.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” he started, unable how to clarify how these words sounded to him without coming across as a total pervert, “but with the information you’re giving me here, my initial association is that you’re suffering from a dysfunction that is, well, more common among older men, if you know what I mean.”

Gods, that was bad.

Judging from the way Merlin’s eyes widened, he agreed.

“Right,” Arthur scraped his throat, “I thought that might have been the wrong conclusion. Care to fill me in on what’s really going on?”

He tried to look as noble and imposing as he could while asking the question, but he was fairly certain that was impossible at this time.

Merlin let out a soft giggle, then seemed surprised by his own reaction. “I’m sorry”, he said, “I’m a bit nervous.”

“I noticed,” Arthur said, growing serious again as Merlin evaded his gaze.

“It’s just-‘” Merlin started. “It’s just that I have been keeping this a secret for so long, and I meant to tell you before but I couldn’t, I really couldn’t, and then for a moment I thought you understood, but then you kissed me and I realised that we had been talking about completely different things, and I was terrified you’d realise that too and you’d, you know, not take it so well.”

He looked at the prince with a gaze full of guilt as well as relief. Arthur couldn't place either of the emotions.

  
Arthur knew he wasn't the smartest. He wasn't unintelligent, but he had been told multiple times that he could miss the obvious when interpersonal relations were concerned. He had always scoffed at that. He thought he understood others plenty well.

Now, however, he was faced with the truth: he was completely out of his depth. He had no idea what was going on, except that it was secret, terrifying, and glaringly obvious.

It was not glaring obvious to him.

It was a mess. It was a complete mess in his head as he tried to unravel what Merlin had said, digging for clues and dragging his mind away from the fact that his servant had finally acknowledged their kiss. It was probably for worse rather than for better, since apparently the kiss had made him realise there was a misunderstanding. Arthur should really focus on that.

But then again, if the misunderstanding was the reason that Merlin ran, then maybe that didn't mean rejection?

He let his heart hope a little, if only so he could finally focus on other things. Clearly there was a misunderstanding at play. Arthur wrecked his brain for something he might have said that could make Merlin assume other things, and realised.

He had never actually told Merlin he was attracted to men. He had just told him he was like Morgana. There were so many ways in which that could be misconstrued. Arthur liked to think he knew his almost-sister rather well, but truth be told, he was not the one she trusted with her secrets. Maybe Merlin had something else in mind, something Morgana had deemed fit to share with a servant but not with the prince.

Arthur pushed the nasty jealousy away and tried to focus. What else did he know? It was something that required practice. If anything had driven him insane, it was how much Merlin insisted they practice.

It truly could be anything.

Maybe Merlin liked making dresses in his spare time. Maybe he and Morgana shared a secret penchant for playing the bagpipes.

The prince ran a hand through his hair noting how it had clotted together with dust. He let his eyes dart over Merlin, who had clearly let any thought of relief go and sat hunched in anticipation, visibly shaking. 

Once again, Arthur cursed himself for not putting the pieces together. If only he understood, he could offer his help to Merlin, reassure him with all his might. He wanted nothing more than to just wrap the trembling boy in his arms, make him forget about any secrets he might hold. But that probably wouldn't help.

"I don't think I understand, Merlin," he admitted, and Merlin nodded.

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on," Arthur went on, because despite his acknowledgement, his friend didn't open his mouth to explain anything. "You have to stop talking in riddles."

Merlin nodded again, more vigorously this time.

"I know," he agreed, and the hoarseness of his voice made Arthur's heart break. "I know. I just have to say the words."

"Yeah," Arthur nodded, placing a hand on Merlin's back, stroking softly. "It's just words."

Merlin took in a fortifying breath, and Arthur could feel him shudder beneath his hand.

"Arthur, I have -"

A loud clang interrupted his words, and the door to their cell was opened.

***

“You cannot do this!”

Gwen could do nothing but stare as Morgana spat the words at the king, a white fist clenching her dinner fork as if she was considering stabbing the man with it. Gwen wasn’t sure what she felt, but it was somewhere between horror and pure, fierce love.

Uther simply skewered a piece of carrot on his fork as he shot his ward a cold look. “I am your king, Morgana. I can do whatever I deem fit. And I deem it fit for all knights to stay in Camelot until we can be certain that that filthy sorcerer didn’t have any accomplices inside the castle.”

Morgana actually scoffed, and Gwen’s heart was beating painfully in her chest. Surely Uther would never harm Morgana, but even then, her behaviour dangerous. It wouldn’t be the first time she got thrown into the dungeons by the very man meant to take care of her.

Morgana, however, seemed to heed none of the signs that the king was done with this conversation.

“He is your only heir!” she protested. “What if he gets killed?”

“He won’t,” Uther said decisively. “Merlin had ample opportunity to kill my son, if he so wanted to. No, they are trying to weaken the citadel, to attack me when they think me weak. They’ll have assumed wrongly, and we will be able to strike this traitorous rebellion down at once.”

Gwen had decided she needed to interfere. She agreed with Morgana – the thought of Arthur in hostile hands made a shiver of fear roll down her spine. And Merlin – well, despite Lord Vargan’s claims, she simply couldn’t imagine her friend would do anything to hurt Camelot, let alone the prince. Still, if she let her mistress speak her mind for much longer, there really was no saying what Uther would do.

And really, somewhere deep down, Gwen could understand that, too. Whoever was behind this abduction, they meant to harm Camelot. With Arthur in their clutches, it made sense they would try to attack the king next. For a king, it would make sense to wait a while, until the imbalance of power could be somewhat restored, before venturing to save the captives. After all, the prince was far too precious a hostage to kill.

Gwen knew that, strategically speaking, Uther had a point. But this wasn’t mere strategy he was discussing. These were Arthur and Merlin, who might be going through unimaginable pains as they spoke. These were their friends.

Morgana managed to say the same thing before Gwen could reach her, positioned as she was near the other end of the room.

“He is your son! How can you ever justify abandoning him like that?” Morgana’s eyes were blazing, hatred and anger and disgust almost palpable in the air around her. “I would save him myself if you’d let me, and so will his knights, because we actually care for him!”

“Enough!” Uther bellowed. “You cannot speak to me that way!” His face was distorted into a furious frown, and Gwen couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she reached for Morgana’s sleeve, ready to pull her away as soon as she could.

“No one will leave this castle unless I tell them to, and I will do no such thing until I am certain of who I can trust. Until then, you will be confined to your chambers, Morgana. I’ll have Gaius look into a cure for whatever enchantment that servant boy put you under.”

“He didn’t-“ Morgana started, but Gwen was already pulling her away from the table, desperate to get away from the fuming king as soon as possible. She could feel her mistress’s gaze bore into her. She knew Morgana didn’t take kindly to people who silenced her, but Gwen could apologise once they were safely in her chambers.

For now, she just gathered her skirts and rushed up the stairs, relieved to hear Morgana stomp behind her. 

As soon as they reached Morgana’s room, Gwen closed the door between them and the inquisitive guards.

“I’m sorry, but I was scared he might hurt you,” she rushed out as she swirled back to face her lover. “You have to be more careful, or he will use the enchantment as an excuse to lock you up.”

Morgana only gave a curt nod. Clearly, she was still upset about the whole situation. When she spoke, though, it wasn’t about what Gwen expected.

“You believe I’m enchanted?”

For a moment, Gwen was starstruck. Judging from the way Morgana furrowed her brow, there clearly was a wrong and a right way for Gwen to answer this question. If only she knew which was which. Then again, there was only one truth, and if Morgana truly loved her, she would appreciate Gwen for giving her honest opinion.

“I don’t know,” Gwen admitted. “I don’t think it would make much sense for Merlin to enchant you, if he has any magic at all, but it’s not impossible.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Gwen flinched at the sharpness in her voice, but willed herself to stay strong. If she was honest, the story that Lord Vargan had presented did make a lot of sense. Merlin had been her friend, but he had also been in the perfect position to spy on Arthur, if one could even call it spying anymore, since the prince confided in Merlin most willingly. And then there had been that little detail in Vargan’s testimony…

“Lord Vargan said that he saw you and Merlin in your chambers, and the time he indicated, Merlin really was there. It was during one of his weekly visits, remember? You sent me away.”

She hadn’t meant for that last part to sound so hurt, but Gwen was hurt. She had been hurt back then, when she felt like Morgana was keeping things from her, and it hurt again now. Because despite Morgana’s pensive face, she didn’t offer an explanation. 

Even when the stakes were so high, she didn’t feel like she could trust Gwen with whatever secret this was. And yes, that hurt. It hurt more than Gwen could bear to think about.

_Tell me_, she wanted to shout at Morgana, her mistress, her lover, her friend. _Tell me what is going on and I swear I won’t condemn you, whether you’re enchanted or cheating or a sorceress yourself. Just tell me so I can understand._

But Morgana just looked at her, her eyes calculating. Like she was just another servant. A servant who knew too much.

It was too much.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to my brother,” Gwen said, and left the chamber before Morgana could object.

She just managed to flee past the guards before crumbling down in a shallow alcove. Hunched over herself, she sobbed softly, hoping no one would find her as she let out all the pain she was holding.

Why did it have to be so hard? Why wasn’t she allowed to proclaim her love for the king’s ward as any man might? Why was she forced to live in constant fear of being found out, of paying the final price for a feeling that could only be described as love?

And why did Morgana have to make it so difficult too? Gwen loved her, always had. She had never held a secret for long before sharing it with her friend, station or status never keeping them apart. She had thought the trust to be mutual, had simply assumed it was. After all, there was no reason for Morgana to hide anything from Gwen – after all these years together, there was nothing about her mistress that Gwen couldn’t learn to love.

But this, this silence amidst the already existing chaos and pain – this might just prove too much. Because deep inside, Gwen still couldn’t believe that the king’s ward, the beautiful princess, could fall for someone as plain and simple as Gwen. And now that Morgana was so clearly hiding something from her, that little voice in her head insisted that maybe, she never had.

_No_. Gwen decided. She was not going to give into her doubt. If Morgana thought it best to keep this secret, then Gwen would respect that. She would trust Morgana.

And with that resolution in her heart, Gwen wiped away her tears to go and find her brother. 

After all, she really did need to talk to Elyan. He was clearly distraught about the abduction, blaming himself to no end. He had hoped to make amends by venturing out to save the prince, but that would be impossible after Uther’s decree.

Knowing Elyan, he would probably be hiding himself somewhere, feeling unworthy until Gwen found him and calmed him down. Gwen tried not to think too much about the similarities between her and her brother, and instead set out towards the armoury, where she knew he could be found.

Yet when she entered the armoury, it was not her brother she found there. Instead, she stumbled upon Gwaine, who swivelled around as she opened the door, trying and failing to hide a broadsword behind his back.

“Hi Gwen,” he said chirpily, pretending it was completely normal for him to be there. Still, with his unusually dirty hair and the bags under his eyes, it was hard to forget that he had only arrived from the failed quest earlier today. Although it was nearing evening already, Gwen doubted that the knights had gotten any opportunity to sleep, what with the all the questions the king had asked them, and later, the preparations for protecting Camelot against any possible attacks. 

Gwen realised that Gwaine couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours of sleep in the past few days.

That did explain why he looked so utterly terrible. It did not, however, explain what he was doing in the armoury.

Placing her hands on her hips, Gwen sent the knight a stern glare. Gwaine actually whimpered and took a step back, armoured foot clanging loudly against the hilt of his sword. Was the idiot truly wearing armour, too?

“Gwaine.” The soft whisper of his name was enough to send the knight into a defensive ramble, eyes wide as if to fight the sleep deprivation.

“We can’t just leave them there! They are in danger, and they are our friends!”

Gwen clenched her jaw. “And the king ordered you to stay.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes and scoffed. “If it were for the king, I wouldn’t be a knight at all. It is Arthur I swore loyalty to, and if I have to die trying to save him, that would be my honour.”

He puffed out his chest proudly, and squared his shoulders, almost as if he expected Gwen to attack him.

Gwen actually considered that course of action, if only to show Gwaine how utterly stupid he was being. Eventually, she decided against it in favour of sighing deeply. Gwaine sent her a unsettled look in response.

“What are you thinking, Gwaine, going after them like this, alone? You’ll only get yourself killed!”

As if on cue, the sound of a horse whinnying could be heard from outside. As if that wasn’t enough, Gwaine’s face rapidly changed colour as he threw himself into a very loud coughing fit, in which Gwen could distinguish the words “Leave!” and “Company,” being unsubtly obscured.

Walking pass a dramatically doubled-over Gwaine, Gwen strode towards the door that led outside. Once she had slammed it open, she stood eye to eye with a very surprised, and somewhat terrified, Elyan.

Behind her, Gwaine had stopped his coughing façade.

“So, does it help if I don’t actually go alone?” she could hear the knight ask. She didn’t even have to look over her shoulder to know the kind of charming grin he was trying to pull off.

Instead, she kept her gaze on her brother and the three horses he had reigned.

“Who is the third horse for?” she asked. She might have sounded a bit snappish, but she was allowed to.

She had expected Elyan to be upset, and understandably so.She hadn’t thought he would disobey the king’s direct orders to join Gwaine on a suicide mission to save the prince and his possibly evil, sorcerer manservant while still being exhausted from their fruitless search earlier that day.

And apparently, they were expecting a third person to go along with their stupid plan. And if that third person was who Gwen thought it would be, then she had the right to be far more than snappish.

However, her brother just looked at her and frowned.

“It’s for the prince, of course. How else will he return?”

“And Merlin?” Gwen asked, trying not to feel too relieved at the indication that at least, Morgana was not meddling with this plan. She immediately chided herself for the suspicion. Morgana would have come up with something far more conniving. This was clearly the work of some sleep deprived knights.

Behind her, Gwaine piped up again. “We’re not taking a horse for Merlin, in case we get caught. It’s a lot easier to defend trying to save the crown prince if we don’t include bringing a supposed traitor home, too. Besides, I don't think the princess will mind sharing a horse with Merlin.”

Gwen had to begrudgingly admit that they made a good point. Maybe they deserved a little more credit than she had given them. Only a little more; the rest of the plan was still ridiculous.

Keeping her eyes on her brother, she exhaled slowly. She loved Elyan dearly, but there were times when his desire to prove himself drove her mad.

“Nothing about this situation is your fault, Elyan,” she whispered, not wanting Gwaine to meddle right now. “I know you feel guilty, but getting yourself killed won’t help anyone.” She stroked his arm, already clad in chainmail. A horse clacked its hoof.

  
“Get some sleep, Elyan, please,” Gwen pleaded. She was not going to cry again. She was not going to think about her only brother, who she’d thought lost for so long, bleeding to death on the forest floor. She couldn’t think about losing him again.

Maybe Elyan knew how she felt, because there were tears glimmering in his eyes, too. But still he shook his head and smiled that sad smile of his, the kind he bore whenever they spoke of their mother.

"I'll be careful," he said, and Gwen's heart sank. "I promise I'll be careful."

Gwen shook her head.

"Why don't you understand?" she despaired, volume rising again. "I don't want you to be careful, I want you to think this through and realise that it's a fool's plan to go at all!"

Gwen turned back to Gwaine, who was looking kind of sheepish, but offered no sign of actually using his brain as she had suggested. Gwen could feel the anxiety rise from her chest into her throat, and she threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I know you mean well! I know you do. But you haven't slept in ages, you can barely stand on your feet. You are practically begging to be robbed and left in a ditch, if you even manage to reach the city gates what with Uther's orders not to let any of the knights leave. Despite what you think, the king isn't actually that mad, you know? He's right in that they won't kill Arthur, he's far too valuable."

"They could still torture him, though," Elyan said softly, his face contorted. "And Merlin hasn't got that privilege. God knows what they're doing to him."

Gwen felt a pang of guilt stab through her - she knew how much Elyan hated arguing with her, and she couldn't bear to think on his words for too long. She couldn't think about Arthur being tortured, about Merlin, her friend, being...

No. She couldn't think that. She couldn't let the knights go without a fight. She couldn't afford to lose them too.

  
"If they survived till now, they will survive till morning," she said, hoping that by speaking the words she would believe them too. "Get some sleep. Think this through. You worked so hard to be knights, both of you. The king looks down on you and will take any opportunity to have you demoted to peasants again-"

"Technically, I was never a peasant," Gwaine interrupted her, "I just pretended to be."

Gwen wanted to scream. She loved Gwaine, but he was really getting on her nerves.

"I don't care, alright? It doesn't matter! If you go now, you won't even make it out of the courtyard. I know it's hard, but please just wait and obey for once. I don't want to see either of you beheaded for treason."

Gwaine put a hand on his heart in an exaggerated gesture of being touched. "I'm glad you value me so highly. I think you were mostly talking to your brother but I appreciate the inclusion."

He removed his hand and picked up the broadsword he had put away. "Still, I don't mind a little mortal danger if it gives me a small chance of saving my friends. I take it you won't tell on us?" He even dared to shoot her one of his flirty grins, the bastard.

"Gwaine, I swear to every god above-" Gwen hissed, but quickly swallowed her words when the door to the armoury opened.

Morgana peeked around the corner, raising her eyebrows at what must undoubtedly be a peculiar sight: two exhausted, dirt-covered knights in armour, Elyan holding three very bored-looking horses, and an absolutely seething Guinevere standing in between them.

Morgana let her eyes glide over the scene cautiously.

“Gwen? Are you alright?”

Something in her voice made Gwen want to crumple in relief. Morgana was here. 

Morgana still loved her, still cared. Everything would be alright. She let out a deep sigh and motioned at her brother and his friend.

“It’s nothing, they’re just being really fucking dumb.”

Morgana nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, I see, nothing new then. Do you want me to leave?”

Gwen shook her head. She wanted Morgana to stay, and she wanted her brother and Gwaine to stay too, all of them hidden in the armoury where they were safe and beloved.

“No, you can stay. Maybe they’ll listen to the sound of reason when it comes from a noble.”

Gwaine actually snorted, shaking Gwen from her fantasies of a calm life. “I wouldn’t count on it. I am incredibly headstrong, especially when it comes to saving my friends from a probable death.”

Gwen watched as Morgana’s face fell. “You want to go save Arthur?”

“I know right?" Gwen exclaimed. Finally someone who understood her. "I’ve been telling them how reckless they are. There’s no way in the world they’ll actually-“

Right then, Gwen made the mistake of looking at Morgana’s face. She was looking even paler than normal, visage drawn with guilt. The rest of Gwen’s rant died on her lips.

“Oh no,” she breathed instead. “You were going to go _alone_?” Her voice rose high, bordering hysterical. “You’re a _woman_, of noble birth, with very limited experience in tracking and battle, and you were just going to go _alone_?”

Morgana made an offended face. “I know how to fight! And at least Uther can’t kill me.”

Gwen scoffed and threw her hands up in despair. “He can’t kill you? Really, Morgana? The only way in which Uther would be unable to kill you is if you were actually immortal.”

Her lover - Gwen was seriously debating whether she could stay lovers with someone as irresponsible as this, but she would save that conversation for when Morgana wasn't actively seeking to get herself killed - merely shrugged.

“I’m his ward," she said, as if that did indeed make her immortal. "He swore a vow to my father. Uther may be many things, but he does not take such things lightly.”

“He doesn’t have to take it lightly. He could take it however heavy he wants to, and the facts would still be the same: that you are going against his direct wishes, committing treason, in order to aid a sorcerer suspected of enchanting you.”

“I’m not enchanted!” Morgana actually looked offended that Gwen brought it up again.

Gwen squinted at her, as if trying to gauge her intentions. It felt childish, and she knew she was hurting Morgana by doubting her thus, but she was too tired to play this game the nice way.

“Are you sure?” She asked snidely. ”Because you sure are acting a lot like someone who is enchanted.”

Morgana’s nostrils flared, and the fierceness in her gaze actually made Gwen step back. “Merlin would never hurt me!"

Gwaine snapped his fingers, grinning brightly despite the obvious gravity of the situation. “She has a point, you know? Merlin is far too besotted with the prince to hurt anyone in Camelot.”

Elyan hummed in agreement, which was not helpful at all.

“It’s very easy for love to turn into hate, Gwaine,” Gwen hissed, shooting Morgana a scathing look. “I am not believing anything until I have spoken to him myself, and I hope for his sake that he has a very good excuse for making me go through all this.”

Elyan scraped his throat. He ignored the death stares his sister was sending him.

"You're right," he said instead, taking Gwen by surprise. "Merlin deserves a chance to explain himself." He smiled as he must have seen the realisation dawn on her face.

"I know that the king forbade us to look for them, and that we are committing treason to the crown in disobeying his order. I also know that it is unlikely we will find them, and that we might lose our lives trying."

He stared at Gwen, locking her with his dark eyes, smiling sadly as he spoke.

"You're right. Uther doesn't like us. When Camelot is safe, he will send knights to look for the prince, and we won't be among them. It'll be a group of his own knights, men who led the Purge. He will tell them that Merlin is a sorcerer, and they won't ask if it's true. They won't give him a chance to explain himself, Gwen."

There were things he didn't say, didn't have to say. Their father's death never left Gwen's mind. She tried to shake the image of Merlin tied to a pyre because Elyan was right. He would never make it to a pyre.

Gwen knew she had lost, then. Despite what she had told Gwaine, she didn't believe Merlin to be capable of harming any of his friends.

He still had a lot to explain about the magic - because reconsidering all he had done, Gwen was certain he did have magic, and she was hurt he hadn't told her - but she couldn't let him die. She couldn't allow her friend to be run through with swords after weeks of suffering, simply because of who he was.

And so Gwen squared her shoulders, and nodded.

"Alright," she said. Dismayed, she noticed Elyan's eyebrows shoot up, as if surprised that his speech actually worked. "But if you think we're going like this, you are sorely mistaken."

"We?" Gwaine repeated. "Does that mean you're coming, too?"

"Of course," Gwen said. "Someone has to be responsible or else you'll all die within the hour."

"True," Gwaine shrugged, then beamed at her. "So, my leader, tell us what to do!"

Now that she knew what she wanted, it was easy for Gwen to magistrate their journey.

Elyan would lead the horses out of the city, under the guise of letting them rest in the meadows outside the gates. 

Morgana's horse was already there, because, admittedly, Morgana came prepared. The king's ward even knew of a hidden passage that could lead them to said meadow undetected. 

They met up at the entrance, hidden behind a wall tapestry, half an hour later.

In that time, Gwaine had collected as many useful weapons as he could find (Gwen had made him leave the broadsword behind, much to his regret), Morgana had gathered a variety of clothes to keep them warm and unrecognisable, and Gwen had ransacked the kitchens for any food she could find.

Getting it all to fit inside four leather bags had proven difficult (they had decided to hide the weapons on their bodies, since the swords had quite unwieldy shapes and threatened to cut through the leather). 

Gwaine had foregone his red cape and metal armour, and both women were dressed in modest peasant clothes, with trousers fit for horse riding. The small pouches of gold they had hidden in their boots were the only way one could see them as anything but peasants, which was exactly what they needed if they wanted to survive.

Gwen looked at her companions - Gwaine hiding his fear behind a smile, Morgana hers behind a feigned disinterest. Something in her chest ached, and once again she found herself cursing fate for putting them in this position, for endangering everyone she cared about. 

Still, it would not do to complain.They had a prince and a sorcerer to save, and the night had finally come. With a deep breath, she pushed aside the tapestry, let Morgana unlock a small door, and stepped through it, into the dark.

***

Morgana tried to imagine what the secret corridor must be like for Gwen and Gwaine. The narrow hallway was a little damp, and it took a few tries to light the torch she had taken from the wall. The spiders that inhabited it were never long deterred by Morgana's visits, and she waded through several cobwebs, gritting her teeth as one stuck to her face.

The thing was, she had grown up in these passageways. When she first arrived in Camelot, these dark tunnels felt like the safest part of the castle, the only part that could let her be herself, a grief-stricken young girl, instead of the king's new ward.

Through the years, she had explored every tunnel there was to be found, had poured over old books in the hope of discovering new ones. In a way, she knew these tunnels better than she knew the main corridors.

This is where she retreated when it all became too much, the hiding, the obeying, the keeping strong. This is where she practiced her magic when she first gained control over it. This was where she felt home, in these dark, hidden alcoves, in the only part that would made room for her in a castle that did not budge.

She had never taken anyone else here.

Partly, because these corridors were secret for a reason. If their existence became known to the wrong people, Camelot wouldn't last another day. Mostly, though, it was because it felt like a part of her, and she wasn't one to let people in easily.

Morgana restrained herself from casting a look over her shoulder to see Gwen's face. It was better this way, if she couldn't see her reaction.

Morgana was grateful for the silence, too. This particular tunnel led straight past the King's bedchamber, and Morgana knew from a particularly scarring experience that the walls were not as thick here as they should have been. She hadn't told the others this, not wanting to scare them more than necessary. If it had been possible, she would never have taken one of her passageways with them at all, but these were desperate times, and this was the safest way of getting them out of the castle.

And so, they shuffled forth, their shallow breathing the only sound under the arches of stone. There was a single moment of fear when the rusty gate leading them out wouldn't budge for her key, but Morgana had learned how to whisper softly and keep her head down. 

No one could have seen her eyes light up right as the lock gave way. They just let out a communal sigh of relief.

It was only after they had reunited with Elyan and were riding through the woods with as much speed as the night permitted, that they dared to speak again.

It was Gwaine who broke the silence, of course, by letting out a very modest "Whoop!" of victory. He shook his fist into the air. "We did it!"

Morgana couldn't help but chuckle. They were nowhere yet, but they'd done this.

No turning back now.

It was nearing midnight when Gwen told her brother to try and sleep on the horse, promising that she would guide it by the reins. Morgana offered the same thing to Gwaine, and soon after they were stepping slowly but steadily through the forest, the knights snoring heavily behind them.

It was only then that Morgana realised that Gwen hadn't spoken to her since they had left the tunnel.

As if she had read her mind, Gwen spoke up. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the nightly forest it was loud enough to understand.

"You never told me about those secret passages," she said, and Morgana's heart clenched. She didn't want to keep secrets from Guinevere, yet she always found herself obscuring the truth.

"You know I couldn't," she said instead, hoping it sounded like the apology she meant.

Gwen just shrugged, though the bittersweet expression did not leave her face.

"They could have made our encounters so much easier."

Morgana almost fell of her horse at those words. She had spent hours in those tunnels, and it had never once occurred to her that she kiss Gwen in them.

"Oh gods," she muttered, thunderstruck. "I am such an idiot!"

Gwen chuckled. "That's why you have me, don't you?"

They fell silent again, but there were smiles on their faces now. After a few minutes, Gwen spoke up again.

  
"I don't really think Merlin enchanted you," she admitted.

Somewhere, Morgana had known that, but she could still feel the relief wash over her at those words.

  
When Morgana didn't respond, Gwen went on. Her voice was so careful, so sweet. "You've known he was a sorcerer for a long time, didn't you?"

She didn't look at Morgana, kept her eyes on the moonlit road ahead, but Morgana could still feel her gaze. Like everything from Gwen, it was soft. It was understanding. It was fierce, yes, and unyielding, but it forgave.

And so Morgana hoped Merlin could forgive her too, for sharing a secret that was not hers to share.

"I did."

There was so much more she wanted to say, but she couldn't. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that if someone could love her despite her magic, despite all the secrets and anger and pain she held bottled up, it was Gwen.

But she wanted the dream to last a little while longer. To pretend that she was as perfect and deserving of love as Gwen thought her to be. To act as if what they had, no matter how illegal, was pure. Soon, she would come clean, she would endure all of Gwen's rightful anger, and then she would beg for that beautiful woman to love her despite it all.

But for now, Morgana let herself hide for one night more.

Gwen was silent on the horse beside her, and Morgana stretched out a hand to stroke her arm.

"Are you angry?" she asked, because Gwen had every right to be, more so then she knew.

But Gwen shook her head, and her words came out on the edge of a sob.

"How could I be angry with him, after all he must have been through?

Her words hit Morgana like an arrow, like a whole battalion of shields. It took all her strength not to stop all the horses right there and cry until her lungs burst, and then kiss Gwen until her heart did. She wiped away the tear that rolled down her face and gulped down her sobs, hand clenching on the arm of a girl she could never deserve, never love as much as she should be loved, though she would never stop trying.

If Gwen noticed her crying, she didn't react. Instead, she sniffled to herself, voice soft but heartbreaking. "I just wish he knew he could trust me."

Morgana couldn't respond, for fear of saying it all, of saying nothing and just crying. But she took Guinevere's hand in her own and held it tight. She hoped it was enough, until they could do better.

She pretended not to hear when Gwen mumbled to herself.

"I wish you both would just trust me."

***

Merlin hadn't said the word. Magic. And as he looked up at the man who entered their cell, he couldn't help but feel grateful to him. The man was intimidating, with long grey hair and dark eyes. He had an air of hungry power around him. He had placed a spy in Camelot, had captured them and locked them up here. He knew of Merlin's magic and had taken it away.

There was nothing but hatred in Merlin's chest when he looked as this man closed the door behind him and looked down on them with a smile. But he was grateful to him, too.

Because Merlin would have said it. He had given up and was going to admit it all. And he felt robbed now, and scared of what might happen to them, but the relief in his chest was undeniable.

Whatever happened, Arthur didn't hate him yet. It might not last long, but every moment that Arthur still looked at him, still touched him, still cared for him, was one he cherished. For later. For when the inevitable truth would come out, and Arthur would kill him, banish him, despise him.

But not right now.

So Merlin cherished the look of wary confusion that Arthur sent him. They had jumped apart at the man's entrance, but Merlin could still feel the warmth radiating at him from the other boy. He sent him a little smile, out of love for this stupid, obstinate golden prince, and for encouragement as the man held out his hand.

"The name is Silas," he said, peering at Arthur's face, voice strangely melodic. "I do apologise for having to meet in such a way, my lord."

If Arthur was impressed, he did not let it show. He did not shake Silas' hand.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the man with unwavering hostility.

_He'll look at me like that one day._

"Explain yourself. Who are you, and why have you abducted me?" the prince demanded.

The man just smiled, and proceeded to sit down on the floor next to them, sullying his expensive red robes. Merlin couldn't help but shudder as he spoke again, unnatural grin never leaving his face.

"I think, my good prince, that we need to have a little chat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are! I hope you liked it - I know I loved writing it! Sorry for leaving you without much progression on the Arthur/Merlin storyline but I just had to kick-start this little rescue mission. I really like writing from Gwen's pov (as you might have noticed, haha). I am looking forward to exploring her character since she has such an interesting position as Elyan's sister, Merlin's friend and Morgana's gf, and also because she is the only one with a working Braincell. 
> 
> Anyways it's 3 am and I should stop rambling. Please let me know what you thought, I love your comments so much xxx


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's kinda sad that it literally takes being locked in with my computer for a week before I start working on my fics again, but hey at least I have some time to write now! I want to thank everyone who is still sticking with me despite my tendency to disappear for months on end, and I apologise for the wait. This chapter is a little short, but the next one is in the works <3 Thank you for all your kind comments and kudos, it really means a lot to me. I hope everyone is safe and healthy, and that the quarantine is made a little bit more bearable by reading fics (I know it's like that for me). Take care of yourselves, I'm sending you all the love xx

Arthur frowned as the strange man – Silas, apparently – settled on the floor next to them. Considering they had been abducted by a magical raven-man and kept in this dusty dungeon with poisonous ointments, he really hadn’t expected for their kidnapper to lower himself to their level. It also did nothing to settle his restlessness. He missed the weight of his armour, of a sword hanging from his belt. He could try overpowering their captor with his bare hands, but he doubted it would go over well. There was something threatening about the man, despite his grey hair and slender frame. Years of training under Uther had made Arthur able to recognise power when he saw it. Silas was not a man to be trifled with.

Arthur shot a quick glance in Merlin’s direction. His servant seemed to be wary of their visitor, too. However, some of the colour had come back to his face. Arthur wondered if it was because their conversation was interrupted. Maybe it had been wrong to push Merlin into confessing his secrets, but at the same time, Arthur really wanted to know.

It would have to wait. At least until they could find out why this man was sitting in their cell with them.

“I really do apologise for your meagre accommodations,” Silas said. “And for your way of getting here, of course. However, we are somewhat forced into soberness and secrecy, so I hope you can forgive us for the temporary discomfort.”

“You had the crown prince of Camelot abducted by a sorcerer infiltrated into the court. You have a lot more than just a cold floor to be forgiven for,” Arthur said coldly.

Silas smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Indeed,” he said. “I apologise for those things, too. But it was of the utmost importance to speak to you, and I doubt you would have given a sorcerer like me the chance to speak if the circumstances were different.”

Arthur tried to keep a calm façade at the words, but he couldn’t keep his body from tensing up. He should have known Silas was a sorcerer from the start. Who else would wear robes like that?

Next to him, Merlin swallowed audibly, and Arthur tried to sit up a little straighter. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that these people had poisoned Merlin, who was staunchly anti-magic at the best of times. Even the very word  _ sorcerer _ made him pale, and Arthur could only imagine how torturous it must be for his friend to be vulnerable in front of people he feared so much.

Arthur made his decision then. No matter what happened, he would protect Merlin from Silas and his men. He would stay strong, and show his servant that even the most evil magic could be defeated.

Unfortunately, he still didn’t have a sword. Which meant that it was going to be a little hard to defeat the sorcerer that had locked them up.

Still, Arthur puffed out his chest and looked Silas in the eye.

“What do you want,  _ sorcerer _ ?” he spat out, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Merlin wince at the word.

Silas, however, only smiled.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he asked, as if Arthur was some horse he was interested in buying. “As I said, I mean you no harm, although I can understand why your current situation might make you think otherwise. However, I will make sure any discomfort you have experienced will be compensated for liberally.”

Arthur snorted, but Silas ignored him and went on, a gleam entering his watery eyes.

“I am not your enemy, Your Highness. Rather, I am offering you my help. Together, we can make Camelot the most prosperous land in all the Five Kingdoms, nay, the whole world!”

The man had raised his hands, and between them shimmered images of luscious fields and laughing children. Arthur couldn’t help himself from moving away from the man at the sight of such a blatant use of magic.

“Your father started a war, young prince,” the old man said, the gold fading slowly from his eyes, though their image was imprinted on Arthur’s brain. “Millions of innocent people found an untimely grave. But you are not your father, and it is your fate to bring magic back to these lands. Let me help you with that. Let me help you end this war.”

For a short, treacherous moment, Arthur’s heart wavered. He did not trust this man, did not believe for one moment he was any different from other sorcerers he had met: power-hungry and manipulative, always ready to strike when his back was turned. Yet there was something in his words that appealed to him. He had for some time now questioned whether his father’s approach to the whole magic thing had truly been justified. Without a proper way to test whether someone had magic, many innocent people might have become victims of his father’s reign, killed merely for the suspicion cast on them.

And somewhere, even deeper down, he wondered whether there had been innocent sorcerers, too.

But to question his father’s methods was one thing. Cooperating with a sorcerer that had abducted both him and Merlin to bring about Uther’s fall was quite another.

“What makes you believe I would trust you?” Arthur spat out, hoping the contempt in his voice could mask the time it took for him to make up his mind. “You are a sorcerer. You will only stab me in the back.”

Silas feigned shock, placing his hand on his heart as if the prince’s words actually hurt him.

“I understand your hesitation, Sire, but I assure you that it is quite unnecessary to slander my character like that. I may be a sorcerer, but I do keep my word.”

Before Arthur could object by pointing out that nothing, so far, had pointed towards this man having a trustworthy nature, Silas continued: “Wouldn’t you say that the very fact I confess to having magic, despite the considerable threat it poses to my person, proves I am an honest man? If I had wanted to deceive you, I would simply had kept my powers hidden.”

Something like a growl emerged from Merlin’s throat at those words, and Arthur placed a placating hand on his arm. A quick look in his servant’s direction showed that Merlin had overcome his fear and jumped straight to anger, a snarl twisting his features despite still being weak. For a moment, it even looked as if Merlin was foolish enough to attack the old sorcerer. Fortunately, he seemed to remember just in time that he was not only a gangly, untrained and non-magical boy, but that he was also incredibly fatigued and almost too weak to sit up straight. 

Instead, Merlin opted to spit his words at Silas, venom dripping from every syllable. 

“Prince Arthur is not blind, he knows an evil man when he sees one. And so do I, for that matter. I would rather die than allow him to betray his morals like this. We will never trust the likes of you.” After the words had left his lips, he sagged a little. It was clear that the simple act of speaking already took its toll.

Silas waited a moment after Merlin’s outburst, merely eyeing the servant with a gleam in his eyes. Arthur couldn’t suppress a shiver at the intensity of the old man’s gaze. Desperate to drag the attention away from his foolish, reckless servant, he piped up again.

“Merlin is right. All magic is evil, whether hidden or exposed. I will never cooperate with a user of magic.” He spoke the words loudly and clearly, so there should be no doubt as to their veracity.

Still, Silas looked less than impressed. In fact, was he smiling? The blatant disrespect kindled an angry fire in the prince’s chest, and he had a strong mind to tell the old man in harsh words exactly what he thought of him. But before he could open his mouth, Silas spoke, tone calm and amused.

“There is a prophecy, centuries old already,” he said, as if he were merely telling a bedtime story to some belligerent children. “It foretells the coming of the Once and Future King, a man who will unite the lands of Albion and bring magic back to the kingdom.” He smiled, though any mirth in the movement was clearly at the expense of the two men before him.

Arthur tried to ignore the heavy thumping in his chest. _ This man is a sorcerer _ , he reminded himself.  _ Nothing he says can be trusted _ . Yet he had heard that name before - Once and Future King. He couldn’t recall when he’d first heard it, but it was a name that seemed to fall of the lips of many magical creatures he encountered. Dread tightened his chest as Silas spoke on, confirming his suspicions.

“You, Arthur Pendragon, are the Once and Future King.”

Arthur found himself nodding despite himself, because deep down, in a part of himself so ancient and far away, he knew this to be the truth.

“Do you know what that means?” Silas asked, his voice patronising as if talking to a particularly thickheaded child. “It means that you will cooperate with a sorcerer. With Emrys, no less, who is said to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth.”

Something about that turn of phrase seemed familiar to Arthur, nagging in the back of his head to remember where he had heard it before. The prince chose to ignore that tangent of thought, instead keeping his gaze on the old man, dreading his next words.

“Do you know who Emrys is, young prince?” Silas asked. Arthur didn’t trust his own voice, so merely shook his head. 

Next to him, Merlin inhaled sharply. Arthur ignored that, too. He couldn’t tame down the tension building in his body. He knew Silas was not to be trusted, hell, neither was any prophecy. It was all just magic playing with his head. But there were thoughts behind the ones Uther had instilled in him, and those wanted nothing more than to know who Emrys could be, who the sorcerer could be that would make Arthur reconsider everything his father stood for and reintroduce magic into his realm.

“Emrys…” Silas began, and Arthur found himself leaning closer without wanting to. 

“Emrys has come into your life already,” Silas said. “In fact, he is here with us right now.”

Arthur turned around so quickly it made his head spin. But the cell was as empty as it had been before. There was only him, Merlin, and…

Silas smiled, a wicked satisfaction taking over his features. 

“Indeed, young prince. I am Emrys.”

***

For a moment, Arthur was stunned into silence. Then, next to him, Merlin spoke up. 

“You liar,” he hissed, face contorted in disgust. “You sick, cowardly  _ liar! _ ”

“Am I now, serving boy?” Silas mused. “And how are you going to prove that?”

Merlin’s lips were pursed to an angry white line, but he didn’t reply. Arthur really couldn’t fathom what was going on with his manservant today; it seemed as if there were multiple people inhabiting Merlin’s skin, each jumping out at the most unexpected moments. 

Still, Merlin was Merlin, and even if Arthur didn’t have that twisted love for him inside his heart, he would have to protect the mouthy man in his employ. 

“Can you prove you are this Emrys?” Arthur demanded, the only thing he could think of right now.

“I can’t,” Silas said. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“That’s a shame, because I really don’t,” Arthur deadpanned. 

The old sorcerer only shrugged. “I expected you to say that. Not that it matters. We’ve prepared for this possibility.” His nonchalant attitude didn’t waver, although two guards had appeared on the other side of the bars. Arthur didn’t fail to notice the swords gleaming on their belts, or the bulging muscles under their deceptively sparse armour.

“The choice is quite simple,” Silas said, his calmness starting to work on the prince’s nerves. “As we speak, our dear friend Peter roams the halls of Camelot unsuspected. He sends his regards, especially to a certain Merlin,” he went on, setting his evil little eyes on the manservant in question. “Apparently he was considering sparing you all this,” he said, waving an arm around to indicate the dingy cell, the armed guards, Merlin’s sickly pallor. “He kept going on about how much of a corvid enthusiast you were, naming him and all. Of course, once you mentioned you call every bird Boris, he wasn’t quite so forgiving anymore.”

“Brutus,” Arthur said. It was probably the shock talking, but for some reason it seemed unforgivable that Silas was so uninterested in Merlin that he didn’t even know what he named the birds. “He calls all the crows Brutus.”

Silas raised his eyebrows at the interruption, which Arthur considered was reasonable. He really needed to start shutting up.

“As I said,” he continued, though something of his carelessness had gone, revealing the irritation underneath. “Peter is in Camelot, and the two of you are here. Your father is too scared and cowardly to send any knights towards your rescue, thinking they are more needed to protect the king.” Silas flashed his teeth. “Of course, all those guards will be quite useless when the real enemy is himself a guard with ample access to the king’s chambers…”

The words came down heavy in Arthur’s mind, and something in him snapped. He might be unarmed and defenceless, but he would not allow anyone to threaten his father.

With a guttural yell, he leapt up, throwing himself on the wicked man before him. He did not care for playing by the rules; Silas clearly didn’t. Teeth flashing, fists pummeling any brittle skin he could reach, he unleashed himself like a feral animal. 

For a good few seconds, it seemed he had the upper hand. Then, he was yanked back as if by an invisible chord, pulling at his hips, throat, arms, legs, his whole body moving backwards with impossible force. Before he could blink, he smashed down on the hard floor, the same place he had sat before. The infernal golden colour of Silas’ eyes kept him there, restrained by magic, unable to move. Still, Arthur experienced some immense satisfaction at the curses the sorcerer muttered under his breath as he dabbed the gash on his forehead, where Arthur’s nails had left their mark.

All semblance of amusement or indifference were wiped from the old man’s battered face.

“You,” he pointing a threatening finger towards the prince, “you are as much of a filthy beast as your father.”

He stood up and patted the dust from his clothes. Arthur was very well aware that he just did what might possibly have been the stupidest thing in his whole life, but still every tear on the wizard’s old robes felt like a small victory. 

“You can’t keep fighting forever, princeling,” Silas sneered, looking down on him from above. “We have all the time in the world. You would have done well to accept my offer. We could have waited for the old man to die a natural death. Now, I’m afraid, we’ll have to find another way to convince you.”

With a flick of his wrist, the prison door opened and the two guards barged in. Their strong hands grabbed his arms, hauling him to his feet, the spell keeping the prince in place apparently lifted. Arthur’s arms were wrenched behind his back, and he could feel a cold blade pressing to his throat.

Forcing him to walk out of the cell, they passed Silas. The old man pressed a single hand to his chest, stopping Arthur and the guards in his tracks. Leaning over ominously, he spoke his last words in the prince’s ear, foul-smelling breath wafting over Arthur’s face. 

“I will break you,” he promised, and Arthur couldn’t help but flinch at the menace in his words. “No matter what it takes, I will break you.”

After that, he was pulled away roughly by the guards. A wad of cloth was forced into his mouth, stopping any words from leaving his lips.

Behind him, he could hear Merlin rail, yelling at the top of his lungs to let Arthur go, to take him instead, that they couldn’t do that.

But they could. Of course they could. Still, as he got pulled through a set of endless underground corridors and Merlin’s voice got further and further away, he promised himself one thing. He would never, ever, call Merlin a coward again.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little in-between chapter because I had completely confused myself with the timeline. This is a bit choppy because I wanted to make clear what was happening in the different storylines. I'm super busy and uninspired during this whole lockdown thing but I felt bad for making you wait so long, especially since I've been reading a lot of fic myself these days & got reminded of how frustrating it is if someone takes ages to update (oops...). I hope this pile of angst can distract you a bit from the whole outside situation, and I'll try not to take too long with the next update :P
> 
> Thank you to all the people who left kudos and comments, you really make writing this sooo rewarding <3 Please let me know what you think, I love to hear it :D Enjoy! xx

The day had barely broken, but chaos already reigned in the halls of Camelot. After the abduction of the crown prince, it seemed that the King’s ward, too, had disappeared. The knights still remaining were barked at loudly, told that it was their sole duty to keep the king safe, no matter the cost. The two guards that had been stationed outside Morgana’s door were called to Uther for questioning. Their knees trembled as they waited for the king to get dressed. 

Morning light began filtering through grey clouds as the citadel woke as well. From a castle tower, a raven took flight. No one watched it fly, with certain wing strokes, into the forest.

Yet Peter himself kept his eyes open as he soared between the treetops. It didn’t take long to find the travellers. The two women had taken to sharing one horse, and it seemed that the king’s ward had fallen asleep, her head resting on her servant’s shoulder. It was not the women that worried Peter. The knights accompanying them, however… Peter had spent enough time with the knights of Camelot to know that neither Elyan nor Gwaine were to be trifled with in a fight. They were already quite close to the impressive underground lair Silas had conjured up.

If Peter had had more space for a brain in his little corvid skull, he might have wondered how they had come this close to their hiding place without knowing where it was. But Peter was simple-minded even as a human, and the only thought he could maintain as a bird was that he ought to find Silas and warn him for the oncoming rescue party. 

Find Silas. Warn Silas. Find Silas.

Quickening the speed of his black wings, the raven flew on. 

***

“I feel like I should be the last one to ask such a responsible question, but do we actually know what we’re looking for?” Gwaine asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“I told you we should’ve thought this through for longer than two minutes,” Gwen replied grumpily. “But did you listen? No, of course not. It’d take a miracle to find them like this.”

Morgana couldn’t suppress a smile. The annoyed tone really didn’t suit her Gwen, and rather than take her anger seriously, it was very tempting to just see her as a grumpy kitten. Especially because Morgana knew exactly what they were looking for, and that it was situated only a few miles further down the forest. 

For once, she was grateful for Merlin’s insistence on teaching her how to magically track someone. She had loathed those lessons, mostly because she wasn’t very good at it. Merlin, on the other hand, could map out a road through unknown territory simply by thinking about it. Whenever they trained this particular skill (which usually took the form of a magical hide-and-seek throughout the castle or the nearby woods), Morgana would spend half an hour roaming around aimlessly trying to find a trace of Merlin’s presence, only for Merlin to show up at her hiding place within a few minutes of their next round. 

Usually, Morgana would just cheat by scrying Merlin in the nearest water surface. Finally something she could do better than the so-called “most powerful warlock ever”! Their hypothesis was that it had something to do with Morgana’s talents as a Seer, but she was able to conjure someone’s image in a matter of seconds, while it took Merlin ages to get a figure that was somewhat recognisable. 

When Merlin had found out that Morgana only found him because she scryed him and recognised his surroundings, he had not been amused. Afterwards, he made sure to only hide himself in places that were unrecognisable, such as dark rooms or treetops. At the time Morgana had been very pissed off about this development. She didn’t see why she needed to do it his way if her way worked just as well most of the time. 

Right now, however, she was very glad that Merlin had been so damn stubborn in teaching her this trick. She had tried to scry him and Arthur, but that hadn’t worked at all. The water in her flacon wouldn’t stay still as she sat on her horse, and she didn’t have the time to stop on the way. So now she was forced to rely on the traces of her brother around these woods. At first, she had been uncertain of her own ability to track them down, but now she could feel their presence coming closer and closer, proving that she had led their little group the right way. 

And yet the closer they came to wherever the prince and his servant had been taken, the more anxious Morgana grew. Up until now she had been able to convince herself that the silence on Merlin’s side of their telepathic bond was due to the distance between them. But with every step they took, the fear in her grew, telling her that the situation was much, much worse.

***

“Please!” Merlin screamed. “Take me instead!” He latched himself onto Silas’ robes, preventing the man from leaving.

“I will tell you everything,” Merlin promised, head spinning. “Just let me take his place!”

But the old man made no move to halt the guard dragging Arthur away. The prince craned his neck to look back at Merlin, no doubt to try to tell him that it was going to be alright. But it was not going to be alright, Merlin knew. The image of Arthur’s scarred back flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t allow them to hurt him again, he had to protect Arthur, he had to stop them from giving him yet another scar. 

With a distasteful face, Silas shook his leg, his foot landing firmly in Merlin’s stomach. Gasping for air, the servant let go. 

“Please-” he begged, eyes starting to fill with tears. They couldn’t hurt Arthur, they couldn’t!

Except, of course, they could. 

“I’m growing tired of your yapping, boy,” Silas sneered. He snapped his fingers and his eyes flashed golden. Merlin knew this spell - it was simple enough, and normally it would never have stopped him. But with his magic gone, he had no means of defending himself, and so the spell stole away his voice, leaving him screaming in silence.

Satisfied with his work, Silas stepped out of the cell, closing the door behind him. Merlin allowed himself to fall back on the hard floor. 

More and more, he realised that the ointment had not only taken away his magic. It seemed to sap the very life force out of him. Finally he began to understand what the druids had said when they told him he was magic incarnated: without it, his body was just an empty shell. Only with the utmost effort could he bring himself to move or think. 

His limbs were growing heavier and heavier. It was so tempting to give in, give up…

But outside his cell, voices were speaking. Voices he recognised. 

Merlin let himself crumple onto the floor. Closing his eyes, he focused all his energy on listening to the conversation taking place somewhere in the darkness of the corridor.

“...are approaching, against Uther’s wishes,” a man was explaining. He sounded rushed and out of breath. It took Merlin a moment to recognise the familiar accent, but when he realised it was that traitor Peter who was speaking, he strained himself to catch the next words.

“Don’t worry about them,” Silas’ voice sounded through the air. “I’ll send Urru and his friends to take care of them. You need to get back before they find you missing.” His tone was terse, as if he couldn’t believe the spy had come to him for something so minor.

Peter made a reply that Merlin couldn’t make out. Judging by Silas’ reaction, it had been a useful remark, because the old man stayed silent for a bit before answering. 

“You’re right,” he said at long last. “The prince is with Jeorg. Tell him that the plan is changed. We can’t afford to dally now. After that, return as fast as your wings can carry you, and prepare yourself.”

“Of course, my lord,” Peter replied, his footsteps already retreating. All the same, Merlin could hear his parting words, shouted loudly in a euphoric promise.

“By tomorrow night, the tyrant will be dead!”

***

The first thing Arthur noticed as he was dragged out of his cell, was the darkness. The dungeon he shared with Merlin had been bathed in afternoon light, but the corridors were pitchblack. Of course. They were underground, after all. Whatever light there had been must have been magical, for it was impossible that after all the time that had passed, it wouldn’t yet be night. 

For some reason, this destabilized him more than his hands being bound behind his back or the blindfold quickly passed over his eyes. Panic began to rise in his chest. They had no way of knowing what time it was, let alone what day. Perhaps the spell that had rendered them unconscious had worn of right away, or maybe they had been here for weeks already.

Somewhere behind him, Merlin’s screaming abruptly stopped. What were they doing to him? Arthur struggled against his captors’ holds, but it was to no avail. Further and further they led him, through a maze of corridors that smelled like earth and seemed to run in endless, dizzying circles. At one point, he’d been certain they’d reached their destination, as they had come to a sudden halt, followed by some indistinguishable whispers. But then they’d simply turned him around to go back from where they’d just come, and Arthur gave up trying to understand. If these people thought that pushing him around through stinky tunnels would get him to crack, they were free to try.

After what felt like hours, they finally stopped. 

There was the creaking sound of a door being opened, and Arthur was pushed roughly forward. He stumbled over the uneven floor, almost fell, but his captors latched onto him again before he could truly lose his balance. Behind him, he could hear the door being closed again, the rattling sounds of keys turning in a rusty lock. 

The blindfold was ripped from his eyes, and the sudden brightness made him blink furiously. 

Once his eyes had grown accustomed to the light, Arthur could see that he was once again in a cell. This one was almost identical to the one he had shared with Merlin, with the notable exception that his friend wasn't there. Instead a large man, big enough to dwarf even sir Percival, was waiting for him. At the sight of the long whip coiled in his hand, Arthur couldn't suppress a grimace. 

The giant sent him a bone-chilling grin. At least someone would be enjoying this, Arthur thought grimly. 

The guards by his sides were pushing him down now, forcing him to kneel on the floor, his face towards one of the bare earthen walls. 

A calloused hand was placed on the back of his head, pressing it down. Seated on his knees with his head bowed, the prince clenched his hands to fists. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. He was well and truly alone, with even Merlin separated from him, his bare neck exposed to the sorcerers around him. 

Pressing his eyes closed, Arthur willed himself to stay calm. They needed him. They would at least keep him alive.

Still his heart was beating in his throat, and no matter how strong he tried to be, he couldn’t stop himself from trembling. Flashes of memories brought him back to Camelot’s dungeons, the old executioner flogging his flesh. He had survived, then. Surely he would survive now. 

_ But that was your own father _ , a voice in his head reminded him. _ These are sorcerers who hate you to their core. _It wouldn’t matter. He was a prince. He could handle this. He had to.

In spite of all his private encouragements, Arthur couldn’t help but flinch at the unmistakable sound of a dagger being removed from its scabbard. 

The guards must have noticed, because a ripple of laughter passed through the room.

“Don’t be afraid, little prince,” someone behind him said. Right then, the cold metal was pressed against his neck. As the man holding it leaned towards him, the sharp edge pressed deeper into Arthur’s flesh. 

“As long as you don’t move, you won’t get hurt,” the whisper came, close to his face. Arthur shut his eyes tight as the foul-smelling breath wafted over him. 

Then, in one motion, the knife was lifted a little and rushed down, barely missing his skin. The torn fabric of his tunic fell open, exposing his back though the sleeves still clung to his arms.

And then, before he could good and well prepare for it, the whip cracked through the air and landed on his back.

The pain was so sudden and overwhelming that Arthur cried out. A long line burned where the whip had collided with his skin, and tears were springing into his eyes. Arthur knew he would not hold up long, Uther’s preparations be damned. Clenching his jaws hard together, he braced himself for the next strike. 

It never came. The prince waited, breath suspended, as the blood started trickling down his back, but nothing happened. Then, just when he had allowed himself to breath out, someone grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back. 

A sharp pain stabbed through his spine at the sudden motion, but it was nothing compared to the one that followed once he blinked away the water in his eyes. 

Where first, there had been a wall, now shimmered an image, as if the wall itself had lost all opacity and allowed them to look straight through. Arthur winced at the blatant use of magic, and the scene it revealed: his old cell, with Merlin broken down on the floor, and Silas walking menacingly towards him. 

And as Arthur watched with a dry throat how the sorcerer approached his servant, his friend, the man he loved, he knew that Silas had been right. It seemed that these sorcerers had found the one thing that could break Arthur Pendragon.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I wouldn't start working on my fics again until after I finished my BA thesis, but it seems like I broke that promise. For that, all thanks should go to @Junemo10, who left all these wonderful comments on this work and got me so excited that I finished this whole chapter in one go :D It's a 5k+ monster that I have been brooding on since the very start of writing this fic, almost a year ago by now, so I really can't wait to see your reactions to this chapter! I can't believe my luck for having so many brilliantly sweet people who are still willing to read my stories, and every time I get a kudos or a comment my heart just goes "!!!!!!!". You guys really fill me with so much joy, it's indescribable :')
> 
> Unfortunately, what I have to offer you is slightly less joyous, seeing as this chapter contains descriptions of both emotional and physical torture. Please stay safe while reading this, and I hope you enjoy it anyways xx

They were only a mere miles separated from their destination when everything went to hell. 

It was Elyan who noticed them first, shushing the group to silence with motion of his hand. Now the sound of their horses’ hooves on the forest floor had stopped, they could all hear it: the lack of birdsong, the odd creaking of a twig snapped in two. They were not alone in the woods. 

Quietly, Gwen descended from her horse, offering Morgana a hand as she followed suit. The sun was rising quickly and dissipating the darkness that had hidden them so far. 

It would probably be nothing, just some fellow travelers on the road, but Gwen was not willing to take any chances when so much depended on their survival. She fastened her horse to a branch, then did the same for the other three animals. As soon as she was certain they wouldn’t escape, she joined the others where they were crouched behind a large rock.

“Bandits,” her brother whispered as she squatted down beside him. “About six of them.”

He tried to peek over the edge of the rock, but Gwen pulled him back down before he could expose himself. She shot her brother a stern look, one that hopefully communicated that it didn’t matter how many of them there were, because they were not going to fight them. Elyan rolled his eyes at her, but obeyed. Fortunately so, because right then, one of the bandits spoke up, sounding far closer than Gwen had thought.

“There is no one here,” the man grumbled. He must have kicked against a stone, because it shot into vision at their side. “I bet that idiot was just seeing things, wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“Watch your tongue, Olan,” another voice grunted back. There was an authority in his voice, evidenced by the way the first man - Olan, apparently - had halted immediately at the sound. 

“The bird boy may be an idiot, but he is also the most important man in this entire operation. Need I remind you that he delivered us both the crown prince and Emrys by himself?”

Next to her, Morgana inhaled sharply. Gwen turned her head to meet her eyes. Silently, she tried to communicate to her lover that these men were no ordinary bandits, that they were the ones that captured Arthur (and whoever this Emrys guy was) and that under no circumstance should they be found by these men. At the same time, Morgana’s eyes were blown wide open. She was mouthing something and making gestures that made absolutely no sense. Leaning closer, Gwen tried to decipher what Morgana was trying to say. Morgana, however, just pushed her back with an urgency in her eyes, pointing to something behind Gwen’s back.

Gwen whipped her neck around just in time to see Gwaine disappear behind a tree. Elyan had also shifted in position, ready to follow the other knight. 

These idiots had to be kidding her. 

Roughly, Gwen pulled her brother’s sleeve, forcing him to face her. She was acutely aware of the men roaming around on only a few feet distance, and tried to convey how much she would murder her brother if he tried anything by facial expressions alone. 

Elyan, however, only shrugged apologetically. “They have Arthur,” he whispered, so softly that Gwen read his lips more than she heard him. “If we follow them, we can save them.”

Gwen sent him a heavy frown. Of course she knew that! But she also knew that it was much easier to follow people once they had stopped actively looking for you, and that getting captured by these people would be one of the worst things that could happen to them right now. Pursing her lips, she gave an adamant shake with her head, begging Elyan in silence to behave responsibly, just this once.

Elyan, of course, ignored her. With one last remorseful look over his shoulder, he crawled away from their hiding spot, sneaking in the same direction Gwaine had disappeared in. 

Gwen clenched her fists in frustration as she watched her brother slink away. With an angry huff, she turned back to Morgana. The king’s ward had looked like she was just about to join the men, but one look from the servant made her settle back behind the rock. 

After a few moments, when the footsteps started to move away, Gwen ventured to peak around the rock, to see what was happening. She kept close to the ground, hoping the men kept their eyes trained higher. 

She was met with the sight of a pair of dirty boots, only a few feet from her face. 

Terrified to draw the man’s attention with a sudden movement, Gwen let her gaze travel slowly upwards. The man in front of her was broadly built, his body covered in strange scars. His gaze was scouring the woods behind them. If he took one more step in their direction, he would surely be able to see over the edge of the rock and discover the two women. 

At an excruciatingly slow pace, Gwen moved her head back behind the corner of the rock. Morgana must have read the situation from her expression, because she immediately stilled, holding her breath with frightened eyes. Gwen found herself holding her breath as well. Her hand found Morgana’s, and their fingers intertwined. Eyes pressed closed, Gwen was certain that they would be discovered any second now. The beating of her heart sounded so loudly in her ears that it was impossible for the man not to pick up on it. She was dimly aware that she was squeezing Morgana’s hand to pulp, but she couldn’t make herself loosen her hold. 

At least they wouldn’t hurt Morgana, she told herself. The king’s ward was far too valuable to them. Gwen could find some peace in that. And Gwaine and Elyan might get away, too, if they were smart. It was just Gwen who’d get hurt. She could deal with her own pain. If they even got caught at all. Maybe the men would just leave. Yes, that’s what would happen. They would leave and lead them straight to Merlin and Arthur, and everything would be alright and no one would get hurt. Everything would be alright. It would.

It had to. 

***

Arthur watched with wide open eyes as, on the other side of the wall, Silas prodded his foot into Merlin’s slumped body. When he could actually _ hear _ the groan of pain Merlin let out, he startled so hard that the men behind him laughed. But at least, that meant-

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, desperate to let his friend know that he was not alone. Merlin didn’t move, didn’t give a sign of being aware that Arthur was so close. 

The old sorcerer ignored him too, and kicked Merlin again. 

“_ No _!” Arthur yelled when Silas prepared to kick him for a third time. With a nauseating crack, Arthur heard the old man’s foot collide with his servant’s ribcage. “MERLIN!”

He didn’t know how long he had been screaming, what else he had said. Tears were swimming through his vision and his throat ached. All he knew was the burning rage overcoming him: no matter what happened, Arthur promised himself one thing. 

He would make Silas pay.

Only when he closed his mouth did he hear the men behind him laughing again. Bewildered, the prince looked at his captors. Could they truly be so cruel as to take joy in seeing an innocent man suffer? 

“You really know nothing about magic, do you?” the man with the whip smirked at Arthur’s contorted face. Leaning in close, far too close for Arthur’s liking, he raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “It’s a one-way thing, this spell,” he said with a wicked grin. “No one can hear you.” At that, he raised his hand and struck it against the prince’s face. The force of the slap took Arthur completely by surprise, toppling him to the ground. Before he could recover himself, he was hauled up again by his hair. His skull screamed with the pain of it, but he forced himself to ignore the abuse. They wanted to see him hurt. He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. 

Through hazy eyes, he could make out Merlin’s shape behind the enchanted wall. His friend had raised himself to a sitting position, facing Silas with a posture that shook with anger and exhaustion.

“What do you want?” Merlin’s voice rang through Arthur’s cell. Even with the ragged edge betraying Merlin’s vulnerability, the prince’s heart soared at the sound. In spite of everything, he could cling to that voice.

“What do you want?” Merlin repeated, huffing with frustration when Silas ignored him again. Softer, he tried: “How did you know?”

This got the sorcerer’s attention. Arthur saw the corner of his mouth move up in a sickening smile. 

“You’re quite naïve, aren’t you?” he drawled. “Did you really think my spy would forget to mention what you get up to in that little room of yours, when there’s no one there to watch you but the birds? I’ve known for ages.”

Arthur frowned. What was going on? Judging from the hopelessness writ clear on Merlin’s face, whatever it was, it didn’t bode well that Silas knew of it. Suddenly, Arthur got reminded of the conversation they had been having before Silas had come in. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it could only have been a few hours. 

What had Merlin said? A poison, a theft, a secret? It didn’t make sense. His head was still throbbing from the slap he’d received, and his flayed back screamed for his attention, but Arthur forced himself to ignore his wounds and focus on the conversation in the other cell. Maybe he could make out what was going on if he listened close enough. 

However, Merlin quickly changed the topic. 

“Why did you say that you are Emrys?”

Whatever Merlin’s secret was, he really must hate talking about it if he was desperate enough to start a conversation about that whole story again. Clearly this entire prophecy thing was a hoax, even Merlin could see that, couldn’t he?

“I said I am Emrys because I am Emrys,” Silas replied stubbornly.

Merlin’s face was regaining some of its colour, though the redness in his cheeks was probably due to anger rather than health if his smothering glare was anything to go by. 

“We both know that’s untrue. Even Arthur doesn’t believe you.”

Arthur decided not to dwell on the tone that last sentence had been delivered in. Merlin truly looked like he would have killed the man if he could. It was not a sight that Arthur had ever seen before, and something in the eyes of his servant made his stomach clench. 

“Why did you do this, Silas? Why did you claim a prophecy that wasn’t yours and risk the fate of all magic creatures for a mission that is doomed to fail?”

With every word, Merlin’s voice got louder, until the walls seemed to shake with the thunder of his voice. Every hair on Arthur’s body had risen at the sound of such unbridled rage, such - dare he really use that word for Merlin? - _ power _. 

Whatever had been stirring in his stomach moved again. It was awe, Arthur realised, admiration. But at the same time, there was a voice in his head screaming that something was wrong, that he had overlooked something crucial in his servant for all these years. At the sight of Merlin angry, Arthur felt fear.

And then, just as soon as it had come on, the fight left Merlin’s eyes and he slumped back, exhausted. Arthur swallowed thickly as he looked at the helpless form. Maybe he had hallucinated the ferocity of his servant’s words, a result of his blood loss. The man he saw now and the spirit he’d imagined possessing him could never be the same man.

If Silas had noticed Merlin’s sudden resurgence of energy, he didn’t show it. Smiling bemusedly, he lowered himself and sat on the floor, giving Merlin a belittling pat on the arm that made the servant jerk back.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” he said, as if he were talking to a stubborn child. “Let me tell you a little secret.”

He bowed close to Merlin, then whispered dramatically, just loud enough for Arthur to hear: “Nobody knows who Emrys is.”

Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Silas raised a hand to indicate he hadn’t yet finished.

“I know what you are thinking, boy. Yet despite what some druids might have told you, I am right. No one knows who Emrys is, because Emrys does not yet exist.”

While before, Merlin had looked like he wanted to murder Silas in cold blood, he now seemed more eager to check him for head injuries. Arthur could hardly disagree with the look of incredulance on his friend’s face. If this Emrys was supposed to make Arthur accept magic, then surely he would have been born by now? Did they expect Arthur to be manipulated by a baby? 

Silas didn’t seem to realise the idiocy of his words. Rather, he seemed to grow more enthusiastic by the second, as if he were proclaiming a truth hitherto unknown. 

“Think about it,” he continued. “All we know about Emrys is that he is foretold to aid the Once and Future King in bringing about the golden age of magic, and that he will be the most powerful sorcerer to roam the earth.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, something about those words rung familiar to Arthur, but he dismissed the thought in favour of following the ravings of the old man.

“Emrys is not a particular person; it’s a title, like a king. Some might be born more likely to become king, like that little prince of yours.” Both Arthur and Merlin flinched at the contempt lacing the sorcerer’s tone. “However, there might still come along some other man who takes the throne from him - now this man is king. Do you understand?” The gleam in Silas’ eye spoke of madness. 

“I do not understand, since it doesn’t make sense,” Merlin bit back. Arthur let out a soft sigh of relief. He hadn’t understood anything of what happened until now. This whole abduction was conspired on the basis of a prophecy he didn’t know, and now Merlin, the last person he had ever expected to harbor a secret, was discussing it in detail with a crazy sorcerer. Even the whipping might be preferable to all this mystery.

In the other room, Silas rolled his eyes. 

“How anyone could imagine a great destiny for someone so stupid is really beyond me,” he sneered. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Merlin gritted his teeth. “Please do.”

“What if…” Silas started, exaggeratedly slowing down his words just to mock Merlin, “what if Emrys is simply the title given to the one who returns magic to this land? What if it is that deed that gives him more power than any other warlock?”

Silas stared at Merlin triumphantly as the words sank in. At the sight of uncertainty spreading over the young man’s face, he continued with increased vigor.

“So you see, it is a long term plan. We kidnap the crown prince and convince him of our ways by whatever means necessary. While the kingdom is destabilised, we do justice to our people and kill the tyrant that murdered them all. His son takes the throne, signs a simple law, and just like that- I have fulfilled the destiny of Emrys and become the most powerful sorcerer on earth. Of course, after that, it’s only a matter of time before I get rid of the Pendragon boy and reign over Camelot myself. No one could stop me, not once I yield the power promised to me by fate. Justice will finally triumph, and the Golden Age of Albion will commence.”

He spoke the words with such flourish and conviction that Arthur could feel his heart clench in fear. Even Merlin looked put out for a moment.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said, though Arthur could recognise a tinge of uncertainty. “It can’t.”

“Why?” Silas asked, his voice laced with contempt. “Because the druids told you something else?”

And maybe it was the mention of the druids. The same druids that had told Merlin that he was _ the best to roam the earth _. Maybe it was the constant mention of misunderstandings, or the fear in his servant’s eyes. Maybe it was the endless luck that seemed to surround Merlin, that had protected Arthur ever since this young man had come into his life. 

Whatever it was, it opened Arthur’s eyes to all the ways he had been blind. 

It really had been glaringly obvious, hadn’t it? If only Arthur had paid more attention to his friend, if only he had been able to disentangle all his father’s prejudices that stopped him from recognising what was right in front of him.

Merlin had magic. 

Merlin was Emrys. 

And Arthur was the biggest fool to ever roam the earth for not noticing it sooner. As he watched Merlin open his mouth to respond to Silas, every single thing slotted into place. Merlin had been about to tell him, hadn’t he? This was what had been taken from him by their captors - his magic. This was why he had been so angry at Silas’ pretence of being Emrys, or why he had visited the druids so very often. Years worth of narrow escapes clarified themselves before his eyes. It explained everything. 

Arthur knew he should be angry. He should be fuming with rage that his best friend - if what Arthur felt for him could even be called friendship anymore - that the only one in the whole castle that he had trusted beyond faith, turned out to be a sorcerer. Surely, that must have been Silas’ purpose in having him witness this conversation. Arthur should be screaming right now with the pain of so unforseen a betrayal. 

But Arthur did not feel the heartbreak or panic he knew should be overwhelming him right now. He felt the slow, if somewhat distant, calm that came with finally seeing the world for what it was. 

Merlin was a sorcerer. He had broken the law. Arthur grew more certain of it with every thought that whirled through his mind. Merlin had lied to him, had hidden parts of him that would have meant his death if they were to be found out. But could Arthur blame him for that when he knew that pain so well himself? All his life, he had felt misplaced somehow, afraid and misunderstood. Was what Merlin was going through not the same? 

His father had warned him time after time about the dangers of magic. It was an evil beyond evil, with the power of corrupting even the purest souls. And yet Arthur could not deny that he had doubted those convictions for a long time now. Too often had he seen mothers been condemned for nothing more than trying to feed their children, men for protecting their wives. Arthur cared for his father, but he had found out a long time ago that the motive behind Uther’s actions was not justice, but revenge. 

As he looked at his servant, powerless and captured for Arthur’s sake, the prince did not remember his father’s words. All Arthur could remember were the slaughtered monsters and fallen branches, kind words and honest smiles. All he could see in Merlin’s eyes was the same pain he had been suffering all his life, even if he had pushed it away. 

So when the words spoken by his servant in the other cell finally reached his ears, all Arthur could feel was that pain of being forced into hiding, and a compassion for him who had endured it so bravely, so lonely, so long.

“I know you could never be Emrys,” Merlin said, a fire in his eyes that was not golden, but powerful all the same, “because I am Emrys. And I will be the one to stand by Arthur’s side.”

***

Merlin stared at Silas, trying to exude a strength he wasn’t sure he felt. 

The old man couldn’t be right. He just couldn’t. Merlin was Emrys, he always had been. The dragon had told him so, the druids had told him so. It was a heavy destiny to carry, but he would not let this man take it from him. He would not let this man take_ Arthur _ away from him.

But he could also see that his own hope would not hold up against the other’s gleeful conviction. There was a gleam of lunacy in the old man’s eyes that was not easily converted. Powerless as he was, Merlin would not be able to stop Silas if he tried to execute his impossible plan. Somewhere in this underground base, the size of which he was unable to estimate without his powers, guards were already trying to persuade Arthur, to convince him by means Merlin couldn’t bear to think about. The thought of his prince being tortured turned his stomach, and he blinked rapidly to dispel the water in his eyes. 

If Merlin didn’t act now, Silas would torture Arthur until he gave in. Knowing Arthur, that might take weeks, maybe months. Merlin couldn’t let that happen to him. The thought alone brought such pain into his heart that Merlin feared it would give out altogether. Yet he knew he couldn’t give up. Uther’s life depended on him, as did the lives of everyone in the castle he held so dearly. Arthur’s life depended on him. The whole of Camelot did.

Never had he wanted his magic so much as now. Instead, he had neither magic nor bodily strength. 

He did, however, have his voice. And more than anyone, Merlin knew how to use that. 

And so, Merlin called forth the last of his strength, and laughed. It was a belly-deep laughter, and he let a manic grin spread over his face.

“You really thought you had found a way, didn’t you?” Merlin mused, careful to lace his tone with the thickest layer of ridicule he could muster. “Some unexplored maze in the laws of fate that will suddenly, out of nowhere, give a miserable weak old man like you all the magic you so desperately want?” 

He could see that Silas was taken aback, and this only added fuel to the plan that was rapidly forming in his mind.

“You speak of long term plans as if you know what you speak of,” he continued. “How long will this plan of yours take? A month to dispose of Uther and install Arthur on the throne? And after that, maybe another month before you make him sign this law of yours that miraculously gives you immeasurable powers?”

He bowed forward to Silas, and saw the other man lean towards him too.

“I have worked for this man for five years,” Merlin declared, not bothering to lower his voice. Silas moved back in annoyance at the loud sound in his ear. 

Merlin just smirked and shook his head. “I know Arthur like the back of my hand, know him better than I know myself. I know that your plan is destined to fail, not only because you are not Emrys, and never will be, but also because Arthur is far too stubborn to ever be swayed into doing something he thinks wrong. He is not one to be forced. He is someone to be coerced slowly, gently, so softly that he will never even know.”

Slowly, Silas’ eyes flitted over the warlock’s body, trying to gauge whether he was correctly understanding his implications. Merlin tried to imagine the picture he must make, exhausted by the poison and with a maniacal grin that made his cheeks hurt. 

“I have clothed him, bathed him, tucked him into bed,” he went on, voice dipping lower, as if he were parting with a secret. “Whenever he has a problem, who does he come to first? Not to his father, not to Morgana. To me. The mouthy manservant who couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. The clumsy idiot who couldn’t possibly have any powers. His friend, his trustee, the one who is always there for him.”

He raised an eyebrow, hoping these words alone would be enough for Silas to understand what he was implying. Merlin wasn’t that good a liar, but he had learned. He knew when it was enough to tell the partial truth, and when a stone-faced lie was necessary.

“I make sure no harm comes to him,” Merlin said, and it wasn’t a lie.

“I have saved him from a thousand deaths, magical or otherwise, with risk for my own life.” That wasn’t a lie, either. 

“For five years I have let myself be degraded, insulted, undervalued,” he said, which was nothing but the truth.

And then Merlin squared his shoulders, looked Silas right in his shocked open eyes, let his voice take on a volume borne from the desperate realisation that the lives of all those he loved depended on how convincing he’d be, and lied.

“I was not meant to serve the son of a murderous king,” Merlin roared, delighting in the fear passing over Silas’ face. “I withstood all this humiliation with one goal, and one goal only: to gain the prince’s trust, so that he will not hesitate for a moment when the time comes for him to rule and I whisper in his ear that he should lift the ban on magic. _ Years _ of my life have been wasted away protecting him, all so he will be far too indebted to me to ever have me killed.” He flashed his teeth at the old sorcerer who sat trembling before him, and an anger unlike anything he had ever felt before coursed through Merlin’s veins.

How dare this coward take his magic? How dared this scum claim his name? How dare he threaten the man Emrys would kill for, would die for, and abuse him to his face? 

Power raged through Merlin’s body as he spat out his last words, coming from a well that had been unaffected despite poison and bodily harm. Merlin - Emrys - reached inside his heart, inside the deep darkness of his soul where a blue light shone that carried all his love, and rose to his feet.

“Do not claim to know my fate,” he spat, leaning over Silas with fierce blue eyes, “and do not speak to me of long term plans. Let me do what I was destined to do and _ know your place _.”

***

There was a beat of silence as the sorcerers stared into each other’s eyes, and for a moment, Merlin let himself believe that he had won. Silas would give up his plans and concede that it was best to let the real Emrys take care of Albion's destiny. He would grovel in defeat and set them free. Of course he would.

Then a smile spread over Silas’ face, so heinous, so hideous, that all hope Merlin had held crumbled to dust. 

An uncontrolled cackle rose from the old man’s lips, and Merlin staggered back, all power vanished, as the sorcerer laughed and laughed until tears fell from his eyes. Wiping them away, Silas settled his gaze on Merlin’s hunched form standing in front of him. 

“What a pretty story,” he sneered. “Such a shame your whole plan relies on _trust_.”

“_ Nocht an breathnóir _,” Silas let out, his eyes turning a sickening yellow. 

Merlin followed the sorcerer’s gaze towards the far wall of his cell. For a moment, Merlin wondered if the spell had been ineffective, for there was nothing special about the earthen wall. Still he dared not let go of the breath he was holding, his heart hammering in his chest. 

For a moment, he thought it was the water in his eyes that made the walls shimmer. But then the vision trembled again, and like veil after veil lifting, revealed what had been hidden before. 

Another cell, just like the one Merlin was in. Three guards stood there, grinning. 

Crouched between them but with a head held high, eyes boring into Merlin’s, was Arthur.

His tunic had been reduced to rags, stained red with his blood, and a bruise was blooming up on his cheek. Yet none of these injuries were anything compared to the gutting look of betrayal with which he regarded his friend.

For a moment, in the depth of that pain, the whole world seemed to stop. The words Merlin had spoken rumbled through his mind, jeering. 

‘_ I was not meant to serve the son of a murderous king’… ‘to gain the prince’s trust’… ‘too indebted to me to ever have me killed’... _

“No.”

It was barely a whisper, all Merlin could produce, paralysed by the loathing pouring from Arthur’s eyes, and the testimony it bore.

“No,” Merlin repeated, louder, “Arthur, no!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Silas was laughing again, deep and full of vengeance. Someone spoke, and behind Arthur, a giant guard raised his whip.

As the lash cracked down on the prince’s flesh, Merlin pressed his eyes close. He stumbled back, falling against a wall as the sound of the whip striking again and again reverberated through the cell. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, and he gagged as he realised it was Arthur’s. Tearing open his eyes, he watched the sea of red through a haze of tears. Amidst it all, Arthur kneeled. Blood streamed from the wounds on his back, yet he hardly so much as flinched when he was hit again. His clenched jaw trembled from the effort not to scream out in pain as he kept his eyes trained on Merlin’s face.

“No. No! Arthur, no!” Merlin screamed, the pain hitting him unlike anything he had ever felt before, as if it was his body being flagellated. But Arthur just stared at him, unforgiving.

“Arthur, please, you don’t understand, I swear this is not what it’s like!” He was crying now, crumbling to the floor as he sobbed and begged the prince to understand. 

Yet all his words did was heighten the hatred on Arthur’s face, that stupidly beautiful face, contorted in pain and disgust at the sight of him. And for some reason - maybe because his own heart was the cruelest of all, more cruel even than the old man laughing besides him - for some reason, he got reminded of how only yesterday, Arthur had placed a careful hand on his cheek and kissed him. Pressing his eyes close again, Merlin let the agony overwhelm him, a wave so high and powerful it might kill him. 

From deep within his magic surged, overcoming every bond placed upon it, and he threw his head back and screamed. It was a scream of such pure anguish, such power, that it reverberated in every magical being across the land. Every beast and flower stilled with the pain searing through their chest, every child and village elder with a spark of magic in their bones cried out in pain. It was the cry of a man who lost his love, his life and his destiny. 

It was the sound of Emrys, broken.

***

Only a few miles away, hidden behind a large rock, Morgana Pendragon screamed.


End file.
